


in which dave is a huge nerd and gets a tattoo. also, john is a giant asshole.

by dirkapitated



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Basically, M/M, also dave is trans but that shouldnt be a huge deal, good omens reference, keaton henson reference, really just ridiculous pop culture references that i get from my classmates?, thats all i have to say, this fic is dedicated to zabe and caleb for giving me horrible taste in headcanons and music, this is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirkapitated/pseuds/dirkapitated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i wrote a fic a LONG while back called 'close enough to touch' and i had a bunch of people on tumblr who wanted me to rewrite it. so here i am, rewriting it. godspeed. the title should be self-explanatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. he seems like a cool guy!

**Author's Note:**

> the tense in this chapter sorta fucks around a lot but i try to keep it in present tense ://

tattoos are fucking awesome.

and that's literally all you have to say on the matter.

your name was-- well, it sort of still is-- john egbert, and fuck if that isn't the most cliche way to start writing but hey, shut the fuck up, this is your story! and you are currently lamenting on how _awesome_ fucking tattoos are. well, among other things. but tattoos are really fucking awesome. 

you worked as a tattoo artist in college. you had many things in life that you wanted to do but being a tattoo artist was not one of them. you wanted to do music or become a magician or something, maybe be a famous actor for the remake of con air. is that a thing? you bet it's a thing and it's just too awesome to be released to the press yet.

okay, you don't even really like con air anymore. but you sure as hell would like to see a live-action remake of evangelion. now that. that would be awesome.

anyway, we're getting off track here. this is just supposed to be a shitty second-person intro, not your whole life story. of course, a story all about you wouldn't be something to argue about, but...

nah. let's get to the real thing.

 

your name IS john egbert, and you are typing in all lowercase because capitals should be used only when trying to stress Something Important or if your phone autocorrects 'i' to 'I' and you are too lazy to fix it.

damn, you're a real rebel, egbert. you know what's up.

you are currently a sophomore in college, and you are working on a degree in music. you enjoy playing the piano all too much and you have callouses on your fingers from playing cello and guitar and god knows what else, y'know? you played pretty much everything under the sun. you really love the piano though, and you've always sort of liked the clarinet even though you suck at playing it. you are a shameless fan of anime and lord of the rings AND supernatural, god to hell you should go, huh? you can kill and hide a body with just the information from a shitty tv show. amazing. 

anyway, you sort of needed a job to tide you over in these hard, hard times, so you decided, with your steady hand and mediocre art skills, to apply at a tattoo place. you got accepted, mostly because they needed new artists who could learn the trade fast. you had a tendency to be pretty calm in shitty situations, too, so that was also on your side. the shop is called 'incisis' and it was a light place meant to look dark. you mean, tattoo places have to have decent lighting. that's sort of a given! but all the walls are this dark purple color and the ceiling is this yellow-orange-ish sort of thing? it's pretty cool, you thought. it's a big place, too- all on the second floor of what you're pretty sure used to be an old grocery store/apartment complex, where the paint outside was fraying and the old faygo ad the wall dogs had put there years ago was peeling on the edges. 

you're in charge of the music in said place, given you are one of the three tattoo artists and had the most manageable taste. the other two are this couple- a short, chubby girl with black lipstick whose name is rose. she has a, you guessed it, a rose bush that travels from her back up to her pale neck. she once said she was german and you believe it, she has quite the accent and she's very stubborn. lesson learned- don't try and steal customers from rose. the latter of the lesbian love triangle that isn't really a triangle because it's two people, come on, is a tall, lanky girl named kanaya who wears the hijab. she capitalizes every word in a sentence like a book title and it sort of pisses you off. she has a knack for wearing stuff like hijab lolita and hijab pastel goth and she also wears black lipstick on a daily basis. you think they are a match made in gay heaven. or hell, maybe. where do these infamous 'gays' even come from?

your boss is kanaya's older sister, porrim. she's tall and curvy and you're pretty sure that any normal guy who saw her would pop a boner so hard it would hit the neon yellow ceiling. she doesn't wear a hijab but she has this black hair that's long enough to brush her ass and no matter how hard she tries not to, she looks like a queen. she wears emerald green lipstick and she has curly dark tattoos that run over her arms (and breasts, apparently). she is an enigma of sorts, and she bartends at the business downstairs, which is a bar and sandwich place by day and a club by night, usually. and by usually you mean every day except fridays because that day is holy for muslims and kanaya and porrim were muslims so y'know, you can't argue with that. no work on fridays, either. you named that your 'chill day' and usually ditched class on friday, too. 

okay, back to the whole music thing. kanaya likes ambient noise (?) and rose likes heavy metal so it was sort of left to you by porrim to find something appealing to everyone, including the customers. you pulled an album out of your ass-- 'birthdays' by keaton henson-- and everyone liked it, to your surprise. so hence you spent your days listening to anything similar to keaton henson on pandora (this includes mumford and sons, really any artist who is fluent in ukulele, and wild child, who is also very fluent in ukulele). your favorite song is 'you', for many reasons. mostly because it hits home and also because keaton henson just makes you want to cry a lot. your favorite line is 'if you must die, sweetheart, know that your life was my life's best part' because that is so profound to you for some reason and you love singing it as you work. 

kanaya tells you that you have a beautiful voice and it makes your heart swell, damn these lesbians turning you into a softie. 

you have a couple tattoos too, which is actually how you discovered this place. you liked it because it seemed scrupulously clean (you mean like, 'mom has company coming over' sort of clean) and it was cheaper than most places. porrim gave you your first one, a little windy design on the right side of your lower back. rose gave you one next, a quote you really loved from one of your favorite books- 'the world will end on a saturday'. the w's were in bold, for many reasons. mostly just for an inside joke. this tattoo was on your right upper arm. 

kanaya was the last to christen your body in this strange initiation ritual. she did a beautiful watercolor tattoo on your back. it was a night sky, and it took at least five sessions, you think. it starts on your neck and runs down your back like water, the starlight bleeding down your back. 

you want another one, maybe a skeleton hand or something. but for now you're sort of broke and now working at said tattoo shop. 

you've given about four or five small tattoos before, which took about two hours each because you are meticulous as hell (porrim says it's a good habit to have). your favorite thing about doing tats is that you get sort of this little window into someone's life based on what they want. even if they are super vague, you can always give them exactly what they're thinking of. maybe it's the several lessons on human psychology rose gives you daily. one lady wanted a few rings around her fingers, each a different design. you like to imagine that they all stood for lost loves. another guy wanted a flower on his neck. you like to think someone kissed him there and he never wanted to forget.

this is how your small little world works, and you enjoy it. every day you go to class, then go to the studio to mix music, go to lunch with whatever friend is free, then go to work from one to around eight or nine. usually work means just dicking around in the store or cleaning stuff up, because you aren't trusted with much yet. but it's nice, and life is good. you make enough to tide you over, even if you do have to pick up a few shifts at the bar every once in a while. you're content.

it is now a cold december friday, and you are kicking back and enjoying one of your designated 'chill days'. it is snowing lightly outside your shitty one-bedroom seattle apartment, and you like the snow, so you open up your windows and sit in your self-built window booth (what can you say, you're good with hammers) and you drink your coffee. you would be drinking tea, but you're all out and the only kind you like is super expensive (the mighty leaf, chamomile citrus).

your phone is on vibrate, and you jump as it buzzes where you've tucked it into the waistband of your boxers (your sweats don't have pockets). taking a moment to dig it out, you press it to your ear after tapping the 'answer' button. 

"john?" porrim's voice seemed to drip out of the receiver. her charm was on, full wattage, and you knew she wanted something. 

"hey, porrim." you say, fiddling with the drawstring on your hoodie. it has the same symbol as the tattoo on your lower back. 

"i need you to come in today. we have a rather pushy customer who would like to have a session done today."

you brightened up a little. actual jobs were fun, cleaning was not. "yeah, i can do that."

"alright, it's a house call, so stop by the shop and get your stuff before going over there. just grab all the ink, i don't know what he wants but i know he wants something big."

a big job this time. you have a feeling you'd be seeing this customer more than once. "really?"

you heard porrim sigh audibly over the phone. "yes, really. i'm counting on you for a job well done, john. i know you're capable." 

you realize that you probably sound like a puppy about to go on its first walk, and you try to sound a little more serious. "yeah, i got it. what's the address?" 

porrim hung up on you, as per usual, and then proceeded to text you with the address. you were surprised to discover that this certain house call was right down the hall from your place. what are the odds? 

his name is dave strider. you wonder of he is a cool guy. he sure does sound like one!


	2. who's this douchebag?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave strider isn't cool. he's just a giant nerd.

yo, better preach to the masses about the badasses about the dead ringer there aint no ring on this finger

ok so first of all that made no sense

your name is dave strider and you are this intensely cool dude who is fucking awesomeballs at muzak and totally knows their way around seattle

TOTALLY

thats totally why you had to make a house call just to get your first damn tattoo because you couldnt find the damn place 

you mean youre more disoriented than a magikarp trying to use tackle as soon as youre two feet out your door

youre horrible with directions and its a curse you swear its a curse you fucking swear its not that you have horrible memory or anything what are you talking about

half the time youre sure you sort of just end up sabotaging yourself

just flopping around on the ground like a dickwad

hey dude youre sort of making a puddle is that piss

no

its apple juice

shut the fuck up

anyway yeah your name is definitely dave strider and you are the coolest kid to ever cool on the face of the damn planet. you wear black rimmed aviators because the sun couldnt handle your hard as hell glare. it would crumble and the world would end and that would just not be good at all. 

you are skinny as hell and about as tall as an overgrown hobbit. you take pride in the little height you have because you weigh just about twelve pounds and you dont have much chance of being obese any time soon despite the mountains of food that disappear down your gullet every time teatime rolls around. speaking of food its time to eat now. you are eating just about 5000 calories worth of doritos and its fucking awesome. 

you are in college and working on a degree in some kind of art, what the fuck even is art? is it photography or actually drawing or is it shitty jpeg artifacts or is it the fact that i sneezed on the beat and the beat got sicker

damn you love that vine. it could be used as your eulogy and you would come back from the grave just to give whoever decided to play it a brotherly fist bump for their troubles. the broest bro to ever bro beyond the grave. 

youre alive now but you might die of hypertonia if you consume any more salt in the next 24 hours. no more doritos for you.

anyway you already called in to talk to some chick who sounds like she smokes too much and ask her if you can get some sweet ink. the thing is you really fucking hate birds so because of that you decided to make all your tats (your one tat) bird themed. yes this is good and perfect and it totally wont piss people off when youre eighty and old and wrinkly. 

you want a bird wing on your back. not the shitty folded up ones though, you want one that goes all the way up your shoulder because you saw it on tumblr and it looked fucking awesome. you wonder if the tattoo people can handle it. 

now youre just chilling in your room listening to this awesome band you found about a week ago. theyre called mystery skulls and theyre some techno punk band that gives you just a smidgen of hope for music humanity. you are about halfway through some song talking about how you shouldnt worry about how much money you have when the doorbell rings.

you curse and get up to get it and youre sorta fuckin pissed because HEY this is your favorite song wtf is wrong with you, interrupting my TOTALLY FAVORITE song that i dont even know the name of

you open the door and

 

holy shit this is probably the most attractive guy you've ever seen in your entire life. hypothetically. maybe you saw someone more attractive walking down the street in a hoodie at some point and you weren't able to acknowledge their attractiveness.

you, john egbert, are standing in the doorway of the abode of dave strider. the man in question is at the level of 'pretty damn short for a dude' which happens to be around five six. you laugh inwardly. he is also wearing shades, in his house. and it's not even bright. what?

he's shirtless right now and you're sort of trying not to stare because he's gonna be shirtless for the next couple hours, probably. you are looking forward to the next couple hours so much that you almost forget to talk.

"oh, uh. hey! i'm john. john egbert? i'll be the one giving you a tattoo today." you swallow, hiking your overlarge bag full of stuff from the shop over your shoulder because this was really awkward. this super hot guy lived down the hall from you and you never knew. what the holy hell. he is so attractive and dammit john, stop being gay and talk to the man.

he opened his mouth to speak and.

"yo sup im dave youre the one giving me some sweet ink today huh" you jutted your chin at the guy like a cool mofo. he deserved it for coming all this way.

he was way taller than you, damn gandalfs come to visit, and he was sort of chubby. it was cute and you sorta wanted to squish his cheeks. he wasnt particularly muscular or super manly or anything but he had an undercut and some scruff on his chin and he sort of reminds you of a puppy. a newfoundland puppy. a puppy whose paws (hands) are as big as your face. you are sent back to a rainbow and glitter world of dorito head and shota buy, where john egbert(?) is the dorito head and you are the shota boy.

it is you

and it is fucking beautiful.

you see him staring at your tits and youre glad the scars have mostly faded. you are damn proud of your flat chest, it took a lot of work and this dude could stare as long as he wanted as long as this wasnt an interactive exhibit.

well it was actually gonna be interactive pretty soon but whatever you guess

snot like hes gonna be feelin up your nips or anything that would be

gay

and awkward

yeah

btw you guess you sometimes forget to tell yourself that you are not in fact, biologically a dude which is sorta weird

its like god decided to adopt you into girldom and it was as tense and awkward as him adopting a black kid into a white family in the 1930s

and to keep with the analogy you felt different than all the other white kids (girls) and you felt like you were about to get shanked like, all the time (still do)

you dont really like the word trans but the term 'rooster that lays eggs' (though if anyone called you that other than like, yourself, youd punch them) sorta works for you. you made it up. its stupid. maybe all the anesthetic youve gotten during surgery over the years has finally gotten to your head. or maybe its the testosterone. damn that testosterone. its like those old mickey mouse movies but instead of goofy its testosterone coming to fuck your shit up and give you hairy armpits and chiseled features. aw, shucks, testosterone!

off track. way off track.

there is a man in your doorway.

ok.

he says something about asking if he can come in and you sort of stand there like a tool for a solid five minutes before sweeping to the side and letting him in. swaggy as hell.

he sets his bag down like theres fine china in it and he looks at you and asks you what you want which is like, sort of mandatory but you guess you werent really expecting it and OH SHIT you forgot you printed that bird arm thing out 

you go over to a kitchen drawer (the one by the fridge. the junk drawer) and open it and slinkies spill out over the floor as you search for the damn paper. 

john (still ? did you even catch his full name right because john egbert sounds super fucking fishy) looks mortified by the sheer amount of rainbow slinky bouncing around your kitchen. we need like eight flights of stairs to complete this. but just. dont fall down the stairs. youd have to warn him and

 

NOPE not going down that road you are john again, and you are watching a tiny man open a drawer full of slinkies at full deadpan. it looks even funnier than it sounds! you laugh a little, sort of snorting like a pig in the process and dave flips you off. you like this guy, he seems to be in the know about pranks and stuff. unless somebody pranked him! but he seemed pretty stone-faced, so you doubted it.

"aha! yes fucking dicks in a blanket i found it." suddenly, a crumpled ball of paper flew at your head. you made an attempt to uncrumple it, running it against the corner of his coffee table that looked suspiciously like a cinder block before you were able to see the image. it was a pair of bird wings that stretched out over your shoulder muscles (what were those called, anyway?), and it was pretty cool by your standards.

"just want one, though. on the left side uh' my back." you realized he had this really suppressed texan twang and it struck you as sort of cute. this guy obviously didn't get out much. then again, what college kid did?

the crackheads and the ones who choose partying over passing, that's who. duh. 

you stare at the picture a moment. you'd have to make a sketch first. you sort of assumed you would, anyway. usually 'something big' means something custom. when porrim said bring the ink she probably was just seeing if you actually knew what you were doing! but, like a dumpass, you brought the ink anyway. nice.

you whipped a pen out of your bag, twiddling it in your fingers. "so, was i your first choice or was rose busy or something?"

there was a pause. "dunno. just went through your website looking at portfolios. i thought the op-art was pretty rad, whoever did that."

you laughed, a little flustered. "the one with the owls, right?"

"yeah! yeah."

"that would be me. so, i'm gonna have to do a sketch first. is that alright? i need to get a general idea of what i'm doing."

"yeah no problem, do you need some paper?"

"nah, i got some." you began shuffling through your bag for your sketchpad. the exchange you two had already was nice. it felt like you were old friends! you hoped you saw this guy around more often, he was cool.

dave was lounging on the futon as you came over to sit next to him, putting your sketchpad on the cardboard coffee table. it was surprisingly sturdy for cardboard. you spread the crumpled paper out next to you, and crossed your legs. "so, you know how much this costs, right?"

"yeah i've been savin' up for a solid semester. my budget is around two hunnid though so if it's more than that i might have to bail."

you thought for a moment. "at this size, and only one, right?"

"yep."

"yeah, i can do two hundred. i don't get jobs often, so this is sort of a first for me!" you felt yourself flush a little. dammit, what if he bails on you now for being a rookie at this whole thing?

however, he seemed unruffled. "yeah it's no prob, you look like you got a steady hand. i'm not worried too much, if you give me a shitty tattoo it'll be even better. the sweet irony will send the hunnies runnin'."

"oh...kay?" cute and super weird. okay.

you started sketching, and he leaned over you just slightly, watching through his aviators. they were starting to creep you out a little. you started with the outline of the top of the wing, trying to imagine 3-d space in your head and how it would curve. you fuck up, pull out a red pencil instead, tear off another page. 

as you drew, you decided to try and make small talk. "so, are you in school?"

"yeah, at the uni down the road."

"oh, me too! i'm majoring in music."

"same, actually. and photography. what kind of music do you do?"

you shrugged, and cursed silently because you almost messed up again, dammit. 

"uh, i dunno. ever heard of twenty-one pilots?"

"so you do semi-techno dubstep feels raps."

you laugh. "no! no, i do like, acoustic stuff mostly. have you ever heard house of gold?"

he was silent, so you hummed the chorus until he jumped slightly. jesus, guy, stop moving, i'm drawing here. 

"yeah, i've heard that. it's that ukulele one, right?" 

"sure is."

it was silent for a while as you finished the sketch. you pulled out your pen again and began lining, painfully slow. you felt dave get up, and step into his kitchen. "you want a beer?"

"nah, i don't drink. you have any soda?"

"hmm. orange fanta?"

"sure."

"shit, by the way, when do you need to be back?" he made his way back into the living room, holding a coors and a can of soda.

you shrugged. "this is all my equipment, and i live down the hall, so..." 

you looked up at him and.

 

holy shit holy dicks on a stick this was the guy this was THE guy this was the beethoven this was

ok you should probably explain before your brain explodes from the sheer amount of fucking coincidence made in hell this was. 

every night around eleven when you were trying to sleep this piano music floated from down the hall. you never really enjoyed being woken up but this

this was really amazing. he took songs that you knew vaguely like 'imagine' by john lennon or super popular ones like 'girls chase boys' and even some techno and he would adapt it for piano and it was amazing. he would fucking. 

he would make it sound AMAZING and you looked forward to around that time every night even though you never got enough sleep and you didnt like nighttime much, you were a daytime sort of guy but god it was just

you were in love with this guys piano and suddenly his hands were amazing to you and you were enamored by them and you tried to get something intelligent or romantic? to come out of your mouth but it sort of just 

"piano guy"

"huh?"

"its you the piano guy"

"sure?"

fuck what if this isnt your guy? but then you look at his hands again and the sparkle from those giant dweeby glasses and you look up at him and yeah, this was your guy

"youre the one who made the piano cover of anaconda and made it sound like the twelfth symphony."

he laughed and it rung in your head clear as the shower glass that one night when you accidentally saw aunt mary's tits.

"yeah, that was me!"

you love him.


	3. in which dave finds himself in a predicament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave almost dies. jk. maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am going to try and update as soon as possible but once school starts up again it might be once a week or so.

it was about an hour before dave permitted you to even go home. he seemed to be really into your piano playing! honestly, you thought it was sort of dumb, but whatever you guess. just because you were good at listening to all the parts of a song and then playing the notes on a piano doesn't mean you were good or anything. 

he also managed to get a couple beers in you, despite the fact you really shouldn't have been drinking while getting out tattoo designs for a customer. shhhh, just don't tell porrim.

speaking of the tattoo design, you did get it finalized. it looked pretty good, you think! you had sent a picture to porrim and she didn't respond, so you assume she doesn't NOT like it. 

dave paid you a deposit so that the art wouldn't go anywhere else and you scheduled his first session for monday. you were excited! dave was a cool guy (and also a pretty attractive guy) and you hoped you could maybe become friends after this.

not like, boyfriends or anything. that would be weird! right?

anyway, you are now sitting in your room on a saturday watching the legend of korra finale on your laptop. it is truly tear-worthy, mostly because of implied lesbians and airbender kiddos. you're gonna miss the show! it's super great and you remember watching the first series when you were younger. ahh, good times. 

one you finished, you were frozen in absolute theatrical awe for a moment before you realized you had a notification. someone was trying to get ahold of you! you tried skype once, but it was really slow and annoying and you got sick of it super fast. you now have a client called pesterchum, and it's sort of old and wonky but you like it. plus you can talk in your favorite color!

gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 9:24.

GG: john!!!!! :D  
GG: did you watch the finale?????  
EB: omg yes!!!!  
EB: it was so good, jade. so good.  
GG: i know right!!!!! did you see  
EB: at the end!!  
GG: with korra and  
EB: asami and they were HOLDING HANDS, JADE.  
GG: and looking each other romantically!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
EB: ugh.   
GG: i know

 

your sister, jade, was pestering you about the new episode(s). they were really good. you wanted to talk about them forever.

GG: also, rose told me you got a tattoo job!!!   
EB: oh! yeah. i did.  
EB: his name is dave strider. he is a pretty cool guy, i think. but he's sorta weird. he had a drawer full of slinkies!  
GG: dave... dave strider  
GG: i feel like ive heard that name before!!  
EB: oh, really  
GG: yes really   
GG: hmm   
GG: well i am sure you will find out who he is eventually!

gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 9:56.

dammit, with jade and her weird vagueness. she's always like this and it pisses you off. the thing is, whenever she says stuff like this, things DO end up happening the way she says they will, and it's sort of creepy! you're pretty sure she could be a damn good fortune teller if given the means. or a witch, or something. she could be like the good witch of the... west? you don't know.

you tell yourself that you should probably pester rose. she might have some insight into what jade was saying! they have been very good friends since they were young, and you sort of got adopted into their little group. you really like rose's older sister, roxy. she's really funny and though it's awkward between you sometimes, you enjoy hanging out with her. her pink text is sort of hard to read, though. 

then there's you and jade's extended family. jake is this swell british guy who is related to jade's grandpa somehow? and jane is your older cousin. they're pretty nice! jake is always talking about how there's someone missing from your group. jane says he once dated a dude from texas, and he was once their friend, but one day he messed something up, kept going on about how he 'failed', and they hadn't heard much from him since! it was very frustrating.

roxy was also friends with a girl named callie. she is really sweet, you think. she loves romance novels and she is asexual. you once had a really long conversation with her about asexuality, and it was pretty fulfilling. however, she has a bitch for a twin brother. his name is caliborn and you've only ever met him once. 

you sort of beat him up. 

nobody blamed you though! he was just very annoying and also sexist, and really bad at drawing. even callie seemed particularly pleased when you punched him in the face for calling jade a bitch. no one calls jade a bitch. no one but you, in an endearing and nice way. like, 'jade, you beautiful bitch, you!'. yeah.

well, you should probably get to pestering rose sometime soon! like. now.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 10:02.

EB: hey rose!  
EB: jade is being silly and super vague again, so i have a question.  
TT: Hello, John.  
TT: Is it about your current customer?  
EB: uh.  
EB: yes, actually.  
EB: jade said that she'd heard that name before!  
TT: Well, that would be because dave is my twin brother.  
EB: wait, what?

wait, what?

TT: Yes. Sorry I didn't tell you earlier. He can be rather irritating at times.  
TT: We've fallen out of contact for a while now. It is mere coincidence that he's here in Seattle.  
EB: really?  
EB: that's one hell of a coincidence.  
TT: Well, sort of. I'm fairly sure he knows that I live here. He most likely moved here just to irritate me.  
EB: true dedication, huh?  
TT: Sure. Anyway, does he have your phone number?

shit. you realize your forgot to give him any of your credentials. nice one, john. 

EB: fuck, no, he doesn't!!!  
EB: i forgot to give it to him.  
TT: Don't worry about it. I will forward him your number and your pesterchum handle.  
EB: he has a pesterchum?  
TT: Other than texting, it's the only way he talks to me.  
EB: huh.  
EB: small world, i guess!  
TT: Yes, definitely.  
TT: I have to go, though.  
TT: Kanaya wants me to go pray with her.  
EB: oh, okay.  
EB: have fun!  
TT: I will. You have a good day, John.  
EB: hehe, thanks.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 10:23.

 

you think it's really sweet that rose goes to pray with her girlfriend. it's really thoughtful, and you feel bad that you probably wouldn't do the same if you were in the same situation. but, whatever you guess. you really need to do something productive today!

you decide you should probably go shopping. shopping is something you need to to every once in a while, especially considering you're a cooking-from-scratch kind of guy. so to the supermarket you go! meager cash, wallet full of coupons and all. 

 

ok so its like 11 in the damn morning and you just woke up to like 8 texts from your twin sister

they go along the lines of 'yeah m/fer heres that cute guys number and HEY LOOK hes also my childhood web buddy and he has a pesterchum handle. take it' 

you are sort of pissed that you didnt learn this information earlier. you could have texted him like, thirty minutes ago or something. such a long time to keep the j man waiting.

instead of texting him you convince yourself he is totally busy like, playing with his junk or playing his piano like a god or something so you go into the kitchen to get food.

your coffee table still has the sketch on it and you acknowledge it by pointing at it because youre not sure if all the dust mites in your house have seen it yet or not

because its fucking awesome. 

so you are now in the kitchen retrieving food and you open the pantry to find emptiness and like, a half full canister of instant oatmeal but you dont eat that. you just use it to make fake vomit when you dont want to come into work and your boss checks on you at your place.

you did it all over his shoes once. you are very sure he thinks you have contracted ebola because he put you on paid leave until after christmas. he says dont come back until you feel better and you are happy about this development. not that ebola is a joke or anything (because everyone acts like it is and its really fucking not) but your boss sort of is a joke with his chronic boner problem and sweaty everything. you like him a lot. he also likes horses a lot you think. 

you work at a hot topic. its not fun because ninety percent of the time the little scene girls with blue feathered hair come in and flirt with you, and you sort of want to strangle the next chick who sends you 'XD'.

you hate that fucking emote so much

anyways back to getting food, which is what you are doing right now. gonna get some milk and cookies up in this bitch yo, or maybe shitty chinese food because everyone knows thats whats up

you open the fridge and your mouth is water and holy shit yes there is just

no fucking food in here

fucking amazing this is just

man maybe i could eat this fridge shelf plastic or just straight up chug this rotten milk and/or coffee creamer 

legit

you are seriously contemplating just curling up on the ground and crying a whole lot as you close the fridge, but then you look up

you look up and its like a little portal to heaven has opened because oh shit you forgot. you forgot about the holy grail of breakfast foods

the lucky charms on top of the fridge.

you rub your hands together like some evil villain, licking your chapped lips because you are about to get your snack on bro.

you reach up extending your fleshy grabber (hand) to get a fucking handful of lucky charms box

and you realize

you are too fucking short to reach the top of the fridge.

lucky the leprechaun stares at you with his sultry green eyes. he knows you want his marshmallows. he knows you are craving his sweet, sugary goodness with all the vitatimens and minerals.

you guess you could say you

crave that mineral

ANYWAYS

you arent really sure how a) the lucky charms got up there and b) how you are going to get them down

you decide to jam your standing meat pedestal (foot) into the bottom of the fridge handle. it fits there snug as hell. more snug than nickis ass on drakes horny shitty lap. you are in sort of an awkward yoga mode position before you decide to slap your palms on top of the fridge, immediately making a face because it is so sticky up here.

it is so sticky. stickier than scotch tape. its like a bunch of dust bunnies crawled up here and had a horny bunny orgy. you hate dust bunnies a little bit more. you sneeze and almost fall off the fridge.

eventually, you manage to unstick your hands and get your elbows propped up on top of the fridge. hell yes, the charms are within grabbing range. you reach out to get your claws on some lucky ass, snagging it (yes finally) and holding it up in victory. hell yes!!! breakfast down son

as you begin to think of your escape plan down mount fridgerest, you feel a shift in the force.

the fridges center of gravity ever so slowly, slower than fucking grandmas on a highway, it slowly just fucking begins to change. 

the fridge is tipping.

you make a noise akin to "ah haha oh oh shit ohshit fuck aoh oh OH" as you remove your foot from the fridge handle, socks slamming down onto slippery linoleum as you try to push the fridge back upright, hulk-style.

sadly, you are not the hulk. you are like, captain america pre-serum. you are a twig. a hobbit twig. 

your feet slip on the fucking vaseline infused floor (seriously, you could fuck someone with this floor if you liquefied it) and you feebly try to keep the fridge upright, jesus this thing is heavy.

you wanted your feet to go backwards but they go forwards and you are yelling 'sugar were goin down'

you actually yelled that

that came out of your fucking mouth

and you fall

you fall harder than adam and eve when they got their asses kicked out of eden.

you fall harder than crowley the angel, who did not so much as fall but saunter vaguely downwards

you fall fucking HARD and you think youre dead but no. youre just trapped under a fridge.

lucky is across the kitchen, his green eyes mocking you with deceit. that backstabbing little shit. you are never eating lucky charms again.

 

you jump as you hear a noise come from down the hall. it was, like, this deafening crash! and also someone was yelling fall out boy lyrics, you're pretty sure.

you, john egbert, have a growing suspicion as you open your door and make your way down the hall, hearing someone yelling something pretty goddamn profane from behind one of the doors.

you're glad that they keep yelling or you might never find out where they live! the walls are so thin here, it could be anybody. 

you eventually locate the source of the sound, pressing your ear to a door around the corner. 

oh.

it's dave's apartment.

you feel sort of obligated to go in and see if something's wrong, but wouldn't that be awkward? what if he has some chick over and he's banging her into a wall or something? but what if he accidentally knocked down his tv or something????

ok, that's it. it's 11 in the goddamn morning and the guy lives alone.

you open the door. 

"oh my god, who the fuck is that, why didn't i lock my door."

you can't see much in his entryway, so you take a few steps forward, looking down the hallway. 

"holy shit."

"who the fuck. i will cut your ass."

you put your hands up, but you were laughing a little, if you were honest with yourself.

dave was stuck under a fridge.

"dude, don't worry, it's me!"

"me who???"

"uh. john. tattoo guy. piano guy? just a guy. i don't know." wow, way to not be awkward. you deserve a poetry award.

"oh."

cue extremely awkward silence.

"you're stuck under a fridge."

"no, i'm resting."

you snort. "resting."

"yes. what does it look like?"

"it looks like you were too short to get the cereal on top of the fridge."

"fuck. you."

"do you want to get out from under there or not?"

"or not."

"really."

"ok jesus christ get me out."

you laugh, walking across his kitchen to inspect the damage. the fridge was still plugged in, surprisingly, and it didn't look like it weighed too much. you curled your hands under the thing and hefted it up easily, wincing at the crash it made as it settled back upright.

dave was staring up at you in some kind of mortified awe, and you snickered.

"how the fuck?"

"uh, i'm not a giant wimp baby?"

"wow, you are so nice to your clients."

"hey, i'm off today. i'm just your friendly neighborhood piano guy."

he was struggling to get up now, and you flushed a little, realizing that duh, he was probably hurt! a fridge fell on him. john, you cold asshole. all you can think of is 'blonde twink gets dominated by cold hard machine'. 

ok but that is still really funny.

you hold out a hand and he takes it, struggling up and hacking out a few big coughs. he was shirtless, just like he was last night, and you notice a red mark that looked as if it was forming into a bruise in the middle of his chest. shit shit shit.

"are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm fine." he said and you didn't believe him, honestly. he also had a scrape along his jaw and nope nope nope, this was not gonna work. 

"where's all your first aid stuff?"

"why are you asking me this question?"

"because you are obviously hurt, dumpass. can you breath properly?"

you are searching through his cupboards, and you hear him take a few big breaths. "yeah, why?"

"well, your ribs aren't broken, then." you cheer quietly as you find some hydrogen peroxide, ibuprofen, and a hot compress.

"yeah, but my back hurts like someone just fucked me in the ass while tugging me back by my hair, but they did it the other way around somehow."

"eugh. nice visual." 

"you're welcome."

eventually, you managed to get dave settled down enough to get some peroxide and a hannah montana band-aid on his jaw. you heat up the hot compress but he refuses to put it on his chest.

"my back hurts, dude, you aren't putting any more weight on my chest." 

you think for a moment, then hop off the couch, a devious smile on your face. "alright, then get up."

"why? i'm perfectly comfortable here, man. i don't need to move."

"gonna pop your back."

"oh HELL no, that is not happening."

"dave, it'll make your back feel better!"

"no it won't, fuck you."

"please, just let me try?" you make this puppy-eyed face at him and after a moment he relents, standing up and glaring at you. 

"alright fine. but if you break my spine you are paying for my funeral." 

"i'm not gonna break your spine," you scoff, wrapping your arms around dave's back and lifting him in the air a little. "okay, so."

"egbert, put me down or i will knee you in the balls." 

"this is the only way it's gonna work!"

he groaned. 

"okay, so take a deep breath."

you feel his chest expand, and his hands sort of curl at your waist a little. you blush. nope nope nope that's not gay. not gay. nope. 

"now, let it out as i squeeze." you fist your hands along the upper middle of his back, and press. you hear a surprised squeak come out of him and you hear his back pop just about eighty times. jesus, how much time did this guy spend at the computer every day? dave goes limp against you, and you snicker.

"is that better?"

no response.

after a few moments you begin to thoroughly freak out. "dave? are you okay?"

"dave, oh my god, i think i killed dave, oh my god, holy shit porrim is going to be so mad."

"wow, seriously?" dave shifted against you, laughing. that fucker.

"yes! are you okay?"

"m'fine. lemme down."

you do, and he stretches his arms above his head with a sigh. "that's. actually a lot better. thanks." 

you smile. "no problem! so NOW do you want the heat compress?" 

"sure man. " he flopped backwards onto his shitty futon, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table. you realized the sketch was still sitting there, on the other side, and you smiled, handing him the bean bag thingy. you remember these things from when you were a kid. they smelled super good and your dad always used them when you got hurt during wrestling. dave let out a languid sigh and you plopped down next to him. 

"is your fridge gonna be ok?"

"yeah, it was empty for the most part. i don't buy food much."

you make a noise akin to someone humming while feeling very unpleasant.

"what? i don't have much money."

"okay, well i'm gonna cook you lunch or dinner tonight, or something." nope, this wasn't a date. it's not like they were GOING anywhere or anything.

"excuse me?"

"yeah, it'll be fun! what kind of food do you like?"

"i dunno. my childhood meal plan was mostly takeout boxes thrown at me with alarming irregularity."

"that sounds like it sucked."

dave shrugged. "it was fine. i don't really want chinese food though. dear god no chinese food."

you laugh. "hmm, alright. do you like spicy stuff?"

"hell yeah."

"alright, then i'll make curry. i was gonna do that anyway. do you, uh. wanna come over to my place? i have pots and pans and junk, so, uh..."

"what, do you really think i'm so childish as to not have proper cookware?"

awkward silence.

"well, i don't. let's go."


	4. the destiny of drunken boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: here be nsfw. tread carefully.
> 
> EDIT: fixed the weird issue with there being no spaces between lines. sorry. uploaded this initially on my phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so fucking long. i haven't had my laptop or the motivation. my sincerest apologies :///

"holy jesus christ on a cracker."

  
dave was hunched over his food, he fork hanging halfway out of his mouth. his cheeks were ruddy and you laughed a little. dave was a funny guy.

  
you'd managed to go home and grab some cooking stuff, as dave insisted you stayed at his place (he had the new call of duty for the xbox one, so why wouldn't you stay??).

then, you'd make a quick curry with some pre-cooked chicken and now dave was being a big dumb baby about it.

  
"what? is my curry too bomb for your plebian tastebuds?"

  
"shut up, asstown. too spicy."

  
"asstown?"

  
"nah."

  
you snort. "do you need some milk?"

  
"lactose intolerant jesus fucking christ john what did you put in this."

  
you're still laughing under your breath as you grab a glass from the cupboard. "water then." you make your way over to the fridge, sticking it under the water maker and waiting for it to fill.

  
you tilt your head and make a face. water isn't supposed to be that color... right?

  
"uh, dave?"

  
"sort of dying here, egbert."

  
"... i think there's piss coming out of your fridge water thingy."

  
"give it."

  
"but dave."

  
"i said GIVE IT jesus do you ever fucking listen."

  
"alright, alright!" you hand the glass to the blonde, who is fanning at his mouth. is dave really desperate enough to drink piss?

  
apparently yes, as he took a long, slow drink, his eyes fluttering closed as he drained the glass. once he pulled it away from his lips, he burped, pounding at his chest. "much better."

  
"you just drank piss!"

  
"apple juice."

  
there was a long pause. you looked to the fridge, and then back at dave. then at the fridge again. then back at dave. then at the fridge...

  
"you have apple juice. coming out of your fridge."

  
"yeah."

  
you take a moment to make the face of someone who is truly, utterly baffled by the enigma that is dave strider.

 

"/how?/"

  
"uh, my blatant awesomeness changes all the water in the fridge to the elixir of the gods? duh." he paused, staring at the curry with longing before taking another bite. with his mouth full, he mumbled, "tampered with the plumbing a little. the fridge redirects to a tank of juice."

  
"where?"

  
"the closet."

  
"how do you get that much juice?"

  
"two words. costco membership."

  
"you are so weird." you are now dwelling on the thought that since the entire fridge redirects to apple juice, he not only has apple juice water, but he has apple juice ice cubes, too.

  
"i'm aware. can i have some more curry? this shit is amazing."

  
you roll your eyes as you take a seat with your plate. finally. "get it yourself, i haven't eaten yet."

  
"but jooohn." he groaned, shoving around the little bit of rice left on his plate.

  
"i'm not your damn mom. get your own curry." you took a forkful of chicken into your mouth. the curry was good, and spicier than you thought. awesome.

  
you heard dave groan as he got up, making his way over to the stove and spooning himself some more dinner. when he returned, you looked up at him, grinning.

  
"so you Iike it?"

  
"it's hotter than satan's asshole."

  
"damn, didn't know you had a thing for screwing demons."

  
"satan is a fallen angel."

  
"whatever."

  
"it is really good, though. thanks. usually my dinner is either Chinese takeout that i steal from the neighbor or ramen."

  
"such a wide range of food culture you have."

  
"right?" he snorted, and you were surprised to find it sort of cute.

  
dinner passed easily. you and dave seemed to bounce off each other really well! he talked a lot once he didn't have his mouth full of food (you swore this dude ate like it was the last curry of his life) and you liked to listen to his rants.

  
he was from houston, which explained his little twang. he described it as the town of duck dynasty junkies and hillbillies, homophobic republicans. that sort of thing. you felt bad for him! texans really sort of sucked, as far as you knew.

  
he also had two older brothers, and one of them was his stepbrother. he called the older one bro, and his stepbrother's name was dirk. he didn't talk about dirk much but he would gush about bro. it sounded like he really admired the guy! you found it unnerving that he didn't feed him much and that he would randomly kick dave's ass in swordfights and neglect to patch him up afterwards. but dave didn't seem to be shaken up about it. family dynamics are weird! you mean, your dad basically shoved cake down your throat all the time and 'i am so, so proud of you' was basically his motto. so maybe this was all normal to dave, and it totally wasn't abusive and it didn't worry you. nope.  
why would you worry about dave? you've known him for, like, two days. it's not that big of a deal.

 

 

 

holy shit today is the weirdest day of your life

  
you meet this insanely attractive macho man who tattoos his way into your life and suddenly he is making you curry and discovering the wonders of your jesus fridge.  
(you have a habit of putting jesus in front of stuff that is really fucking awesome. eggo cinnamon toast waffles? jesus waffles. tollhouse flatbread crisps? jesus crackers.)  
and you just told him your whole goddamn life story (he didnt even interrupt, bless his beautiful soul) but you just finished the part about your bro and now hes looking at you with his thick brows all furrowed and his perfect lips this thin little line and jesus fucking dickhole this dude.

  
he looked so worried and you pulled a poker face, no you cant read my poker face. you ask him whats up and he still sits there like hes trying to process your french.

  
"oh uh!! nothing. its good. sorry," he gets up speedy gonzales fast and takes both of your empty plates to the sink, washing them like some mom expecting company.

  
"dude dont worry about me and my bro. sall good. bros awesome." you shifted in your seat, leaning back because fuck if this wasnt heavier than a semi loaded with teenage angst.

  
"well yeah but. i dunno. he never patched you up or anything?"

  
"nah" you respond immediately. your mind is sort of a broken record of 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck FUCK' and you were not doing well.

  
"well, thats sort of. not. uh"

  
"HEY so you wanted to play call of duty didnt you or i have destiny if you want shoot some mofos up like"

  
"oh! uh. yeah ok." thank god he was dropping it because YEAH lets not talk about this

  
youd gotten this convo many a time from many a people. mostly rose

  
she keeps telling you bro has 'many abusive traits youre secretly gay blah blah blarg' and it really pisses you off cause

  
shut up

  
bro was awesome

  
he was fucking amazing he taught you how to be a badass bitch with a sword.

  
you mean

  
who cares if he didnt support your whole identity deal. your ronald mcdonald house wish: please horrible fast food restaurant buy me a wang. which they didnt. rose helped pay for everything and bro sort of stopped talking to you after that

  
and as for dirk

  
haha

  
you havent seen him in forever

  
who cares

 

 

dave was puzzling. you have no idea why he's suddenly acting so defensive, he was just fine a minute ago! was it the thing with his brother? he's gotta understand that you're just worried, right? you mean.

  
yeah.

  
anyway. video games.

  
you and dave got settled down with a couple beers. you played COD for a while before you got sick of it, and dave relented and let you play destiny.

  
"dude, just pick a hairstyle."

  
"but all of these look so dumb!"

  
"well then be a robot dude, they don't even have hair."

  
"but i don't wanna..."

  
"then be an awoken."

  
"hmm." you scrolled over to the awoken character, choosing the female model and a helluva pixie cut. you also gave her blue skin and orange eyes. hot damn.

  
"so what are you again?"

  
"a hunter."

  
"aight, cool."

  
you managed to get through the tutorial levels no problem. your little AI guide was called ghost, and he was actually pretty helpful! he also sounded a little like dave so you teased him about that.

  
then you got to a level four scout level. it was around eleven at night and the room was dark. you'd handed the controller over to dave, and he was making his way through a hive. it was labeled a darkness zone- if he died, he would respawn at the beginning of the mission. you were splayed out on the couch, nursing your fourth beer that night. you were probably drunk, but it wasn't like you were driving anywhere anytime soon. damn dave. he ruined your whole 'no drinking' schpeel.

  
"lots of movement ahead. i have a bad feeling about this." ghost warned, and you sat up, blinking at the screen because it was a little blurry. you heard dave's remote clicking as he ascended some stairs.

  
"why is it so dark?" you asked.

  
"shut up, drunky."

  
"hey, you meanie. i'm not drunk."

  
"be quiet." he made his way up another set of stairs, before something was heard in the distance. you were quiet as dave looked around.

  
"there's nothing here. the fuck?" his fingers clicked the controller as he looked around. you closed your eyes again, leaning back against the couch and letting out a sigh.

  
suddenly, you heard dave yelling, and your eyes flicked open. you saw something akin to a world war z zombie on screen, and dave was pressed back against the base of the futon, knocking over the coffee table as he scuttled backwards, breathing heavily.

  
"you alright there, buddy?"

  
more heavy breathing. "nuh... no. i am not fucking okay i think that jack the ripper just murdered me."

  
"it says it's a thrall."

 

"whatever. thrall, jack the ripper. same amount of fucking evil."

  
"please don't fuck evil. you might get an STI." you sighed, looking down at him.

  
"no worries, i'll use protection." he tapped your knee, staring up at you. "move over, man. i'm sick of destiny."

  
you scooched over a little, blinking blearily at him. as your drunken brain processed him leaning his cheek against the back part of the futon, you realized that dave was really, really attractive. like, damn. really. really attractive. holy shit. he had these nice, not so hyper-masculine features that gave him this sort of soft look. his white-blonde hair fanned out against the cushion and his freckles spattered his face like a galaxy. you really wanted to touch them because you were starting to become unconvinced that a man this attractive exists.

  
"whatcha lookin' at?" he mumbled, and you sighed. god take you now, you were gonna die if he got any more droolworthy.

  
"ugh. i need another beer. you want one?" he got up, and you almost wanted to cry. nooooo, dave. stay here and let me gawk at your beautiful face.

  
"sure." you said, slumping backwards a little more.

  
soon he was back, and he handed you your beer as he popped open his with... his finger?

  
"woah, how did you do that."

  
"my ring?" he took your beer as you made grabby hands at it, and you spotted the gold and red band on his ring finger as he popped the cap off.

  
"you married or somethin'?" you asked, taking your beer from him and tipping it to your lips.

  
"nah. promise ring, sort of. rose has a silver and purple one."

  
"promise ring for what?"

  
"me and rose promised that if we ever needed to prank someone as twins then we'd do it."

  
"please don't tell me i'm talking to rose right now."

  
"nah. we always keep our own rings, for one. also, rose has a bigger ass than me."

  
you snorted. "wow, nice. i totally needed to know that."

  
"you have something against my sister?"

  
you put your hands up in defense. "no, dude. i mean. i used to have a thing for her before i found out she wasn't single."

  
"wow."

  
"bite me."

  
"that can be arranged."

  
you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't ignore the pink rising to your cheeks. let's not think about that, like, ever. especially when dave is in front of you. watching you. "yeah, whatever dude."

  
"weeeell. i'm just saying. we are both ridiculously drunk right now."

  
"buzzed."

  
"drunk."

  
"do you have any more beer?"

  
"uh, no. but i have some fireball."

  
"dude, that stuff burns. it burns so bad."

  
"hotter than the damn sun, dude. you wanna have a few shots?"

  
"sure, i guess."

 

 

 

oh my god dave strider is in big trouble, you are in big trouble

  
john first said he didnt drink but second you got him some beer and third you got him some fireball and oh my god. oh my god

  
shit was flying off the handle so fucking fast and hooooly shit holy shit. oh my god

  
okay you should probably stop (TOTALLY NOT) freaking out and explain yourself

  
so john was already drunk but as he got more drunk he got more incoherent and he started sounding less and less like normal john and now really, really weird things were happening.

  
"hey, dave." he pulled away from the rather sloppy makeout youd been having and a sort of spider silk string of saliva was connecting your red, swollen lips. shit.

  
"hey."

"hi."

you shifted on his lap, taking in a deep breath and he smelled like alcohol and that smell when you bury your nose into someones hair. mmmmm yes. fuck yes. but also fuck no john was your bro youd barely known him a few days and you were making out and you were pretty sure john had a boner fuck fuck fuck fuck.

  
"you should get off me." john slurred.

  
you complied, crawling off his lap and sitting in front of him. what was he even planning. what is even happening.

  
"hey, you know what you should do?" he ran one of his overlarge hands through your hair and fuuuuck god that was good. he tugged on it a little which made your gaze flick upwards. you cursed internally because your shades were sliding down your nose and dammit, you need tape for these things.

  
"what should i do, egbert?"

  
"you should suck me off. you know how nice that would be?" john shifted his hips and wait what did he want you to do?

  
he wanted you to

  
suck his dick

  
like put your mouth. on his wang.

  
oh my god he was so drunk. you were so drunk. you were also going to do it. you were totally going to suck the shit out of john egberts dick. this is a thing that is happening.  
"yeah i can do that" you say, and his hand gets heavy suddenly, pressing your face down near the bulge in his jeans. god. god.

  
"haha, yesssss. awesome. yes." he smiled down at you, and fuck if that didnt look just a tiny bit predatory. fuck.

  
you bent down, using your chompers to unbutton (this took a while) and unzip (this took considerably less of a while) his jeans. you tugged them down against his thighs, and you snorted because he was wearing blue plaud boxers. you have no idea what is funny about that. it just is for some reason.

  
he groans as you sort of just stare at the bulge in his boxers that signified a half-hard dick, and you smirked up at him. "all in due time, dude."

  
"no. now." he shoved your head down, and you flushed a little. fuck fuck fuck. fucking fuck on a fucktruck.

  
since your face was all in his business, you decided to lathe your tongue along the material of his boxers. it was salty and you sort of just. started sucking at his dick through the cloth and john fucking keened, deep and low in his throat and you fucking squirmed. god. fucking.

  
no one deserves to be this hot. no one.

  
its really, really just. not fair. at all.

  
you managed to get johns boxers off more sooner than later, and his dick literally almost hit you in the face. you werent too good of a judge on dick size, but as far as you could discern johns beef truncheon was along the lines of pretty GODDAMN BIG.

  
like how big is his dick sir?

  
how big are we talking

  
like texas big or moon big or just standard united states big

  
you gotta give a lane of reference

  
like mister president! a big dick is on its way to destroy your ass!

  
'how big is said dick mister sir'

  
'its the size of texas!'

  
'oh well thats manageable'

  
'wait actually its the size of goddamn jupiter!!!'

  
'is jupiters giant douchey gascock finally coming to destroy my ass'

  
'yes'  
  
'HOLY SHIT'

  
anyway

  
you are now sucking johns dick. and this is actually hotter than you expected with all the moaning and groaning that johns doing. you think a 'good boy' slips out of his voicebox a few times and damn that was a dead ringer for KINKY and it was like he was a president and you were the goddamn liberty bell. yes. fucking jam your dick in my

but yeah you were sucking john off and you were really unfortunately turned on right now and this was just not good. no bueno.

  
you hummed around johns dick and you sort of realized how drunkenly stupid this all was but you didnt really find the time to give a shit. you gave a long hard suck which made john whimper and tug at your hair a little. fuuuck. stop that. its not fair. this is so illegal.

  
and suddenly john was convulsing under you and moaning and you managed to pull off before you realized that was a bad idea and FUCK

  
yeah

  
spunk was all over your face

  
ok

  
john was asleep in a matter of minutes and you trekked off to the bathroom to clean up

  
(and also jerk it quietly and hoping the neighbors dont hear. goddamn thin walls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY FOR THE PORN


	5. lousy goddamn stupid hangovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea whats gonna happen in chapter five. just saying.
> 
> ALSO IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IVE HAD SO MUCH GOING ON. CRIES

you awoke to this horrible feeling in your everywhere.

your throat hurt and your mouth was dry and your stomach was churning and you had the worst headache on the fucking planet, jesus fuck. it was like little night imps had crawled into your ears and are now pounding their fists on the inside of your cranium.

okay, now you're sounding like dave.

fuck dave. your head is throbbing and the curry from last night is coming up. and it's coming up fast.

you sit up, stifling a burp as you make your way to a standing position, groaning and rubbing your head as you toddle off to the bathroom, getting a horrible feeling of vertigo (which just made your upset stomach worse) as you walked.

you fell on your knees as you got into the bathroom, retching as you did so. looks like it was time to pray to the porcelain god.

 

you awake to this horrible noise coming from..... the bathroom

ok

what animal is drowning in your bathtub now

it sounds like that one creepypasta where the chick dies in the acid bathtub water.

you realize john was here

you dearly hope he isnt dying in acid bathwater

that would suck

you like john

you also sucked his dick last ni

fuck

you sucked johns dick last night.

oh my god

ok lets calm down haha this isnt a big deal you just put your mouth on johns dick and he doesnt even know that

youre like

not penis

sort of penis

does he even like penis

you dont even know that this man is gay what if he was expecting this blowjob to be like a bro thing

you dont fucking know

cis boys are weird

john is still dying in the bathroom

you decide to go check it out

 

"yo, you alright in here?" you heard a voice behind you say as you dry heaved into the toilet.

"shut the fuck up."

"geez, dude. chill. you did this to yourself."

"you're-" retch- "the one-" gag- "who gave me the beer, asshole."

"you're gonna get puke in your hair, hold on."

you hear rustling behind you and then hands groping at your head. you jolt a little bit, before- oh, that actually feels good. dave ran nimble fingers through your hair as he tied it back into what you assumed was a ridiculously small pigtail at the top of your head.

awesome. you probably look like an eight year old girl. with stubble. and armpit hair.

you can see now, and it just makes you puke again because ewwww, your dinner is in the toilet.

dave was rubbing your back gently, and you had a short flashback from last night. you remember having this really weird dream about dave doing some x-rated things and you swallow. fuck. let's. not.

that never happened. not even in dream world. nope.

gay. too gay.

(dave ends up leaving you be for a while, and you borrow his shower. he made you a nice breakfast of microwaved pop tarts and then you shuffled your way home.)

 

you are sort of sitting on your couch wondering what the fuck just happened

poor john and his poor puking in your toilet

you probably shouldnt have put those shots in him

then you mightve not sucked his

yeah

ok

maybe we should talk to rose and see how fast she picks up on your egbert homolust because it is just so lusty. and so homo

more homo than orange is the new black

ok maybe not THAT homo

but still pretty homo

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 12:42.

TG: yo  
TT: Good afternoon, David.  
TG: dont pull the david bs with me spill  
TT: Spill what?  
TG: spill the thing  
TT: I don't have but an inkling of what you are talking about, dear brother.  
TG: you know what the fuck im talking about  
TG: you should already be writing several detailed essays and theses on the homosexual anomaly that is your brother  
TG: your brother that was once a straight girl and was once a lesbian then was once a straight guy and is now probably not very straight  
TT: You had John over, I'm presuming.  
TG: ding ding ding  
TT: So, I'm supposing you two are in relations now?  
TG: were not dating  
TG: we just got drunk and i sort of  
TG: tested my temperature on his 100% all beef thermometer  
TT: Okay, slow down.  
TT: You sucked his dick?  
TG: no  
TG: yes  
TG: but he didnt say anything about it so im assuming he doesnt remember  
TT: Well. This is obviously some completely compromising, life changing information.   
TT: Sounds fun.  
TT: I have to go, I have school.  
TT: Take care.  
tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 1:14.

 

jesus fuck rose literally was no help whatsoever

 

she just ruined your mood if it wasnt ruined enough with the churning in your stomach and how youve been terribly anxious all day (thought you REFUSE to admit it to anyone because no. you are not anxious dave does not get anxious) 

and you really realized how depressed you were after john left. it was like there was this weird abysmal area where john used to be on your couch like five minutes ago and god you missed him. 

why did you miss him

he was just some buff dorky asshole

you took a long shower like your brother used to and sat curled up at the bottom of the tub, ass naked and questioning how depressed you are (you were really depressed)

knowing it wouldnt really help but it might do something to your mood, you took some prozac and pretended like it really was a happy pill and didnt just numb you from everything else because fuck if thats not what it did. without it you were exposed to how much of a tryhard and a fraud you were to everyone and how much you totally werent worth anyones friendship

instead of feeling terrible about yourself/wallowing in your self pity you decided to turn off all your lights and close all your curtains and sit in the dark. and then you turned on some [shitty music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSVwJyxeVYI) from a shitty playlist youd put together on soundcloud like a year ago. (it also had some keaton henson and ingrid michaelson because you were a sucker for indie) 

and while portugal the man told you how they didnt need no modern jesus, you pulled on a pair of mismatched socks and slid around on your kitchen floor in the dark. for ambiance, you even cracked a few glowsticks. you accidentally broke one and you splattered its bright blue glowstick cum all over the walls because it satisfied you to make a mess and not have to clean it up because when you turned the lights on it would be gone. gotta love glow in the dark shit right? 

afterwards you made yourself microwave mac and cheese (still in the dark) and waited for the sun to go down. 

when it did, you made your way out onto the roof. that was easy for you, climbing the shitty creaky fire escape like some hong kong imposter with your shitty beat-up ukulele that some guy bought you a long time ago. (you were in love with him once. but then you were a guy suddenly and even though he liked guys he didnt want the drama that came with a transgender guy apparently. he fell in love with a girl named emily and you wrote so many songs about him.) 

the sky was still a pale ish red blue when you reached the roof, like the sun had just started flipping your side of the world off and was going to go be an asshole to another part of the planet (you hated the sun).

you began strumming those three easy chords which you learned on this damn thing first. f, g, c, f, g, c. it created a nice three step tune and it soothed you because you didnt even have to think when you played it. 

eventually you moved on to harder things like techno songs youd somehow managed to learned on the indiest instrument off all time. it was irony, you said, some manly cool guy playing this tiny, gay, four string guitar. but it wasnt. you liked your ukulele. his name was frank and he was a little chipped on the back because you didnt take good care of him but it was ok. he still worked and you loved him.

you stayed out there until it was too cold to be outside (around two am probably. you werent all too sure) but you didnt go outside before finding as many zodiac constellations as possible. you managed to find sagittarius (your sign) and you thought you saw aquarius and pisces of you werent sure. you went inside before you fell asleep out there and considered that day a pretty successful lazy day. (though it was dark enough that you stubbed your toe on the couch twice as you made your way to your room.) 

as you laid down in bed you picked up your phone for the first time that day. 

 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 0:21:20.  
EB: hey dude! i just wanted to say i had a really good time last night.   
EB: and, uh... i scheduled your first tat session. can you meet me at the tattoo place at like 2 tomorrow? i'm planning on a pretty long session. maybe bring music or something? haha, it gets pretty boring after a while even if it is kind of painful.   
EB: oh, yeah. and tattoos are painful. haha. if you didn't know that. you probably did, but! whatever.    
EB: i'll talk to you later, dude. i mean, i'm assuming you're asleep.    
EB: goodnight!   


 

weird john never signed out

  


its like he was waiting for you to respond before he did

  


so you did. and you kind of felt terrible because you got all anxious and nervous and its like some feathered asshole had gotten into your stomach and started fucking things up. is this what they called butterflies? weak

TG: yeah sounds cool  
TG: night  


 

when you woke up, rubbing your eyes (wow you couldn't see. you were so blind without your glasses, it was ridiculous!) you had a couple messages from dave. you smiled. he thought it was cool. dave was a cool guy and he was saying you were cool! or that your idea was cool? you didn't know. maybe you were overthinking it. either way, you decided you were sick of lying around in bed and you moved to lie around on the couch and watch bob's burgers until the crotch itch jokes got too boring. (which they never did. you watched an entire season.) 

afterwards, you made your way out into the rain. it was always raining! but it wasn't, like, heavy rain or anything. it was nice and drizzly and it was honestly your favorite thing. you loved rain so much. you knew that a lot of people in seattle got seasonal depression because of all the rain but you loved it! in fact, you hated the couple sunny days you got. they sucked and it was too hot and everyone was too cheery. 

you sat down in the cafe that was on campus, making yourself comfortable in a booth seat by the window so you could watch the clouds. you'd always loved stuff like wind and weather in general. they were just so interesting!

you were humming to yourself quietly when this short, chubby girl ran up to you, looking rather excited and a little overcaffeinated. she screamed high school student council president, all glasses and long black hair and preppiness. 

"hi!" she said, and you winced. her voice was too loud for your hangover. she just assumed you were listening and kept going. "i'm fef. i live in the apartment a few doors down from yours and i heard you were a music major, and i've heard your piano before, and..." she looked down at her hand-knitted shoulder bag, which was emblazoned with what looked like a baby squid. 

eventually, after dropping eight different sea-themed lipsticks on the floor, she found what she was looking for. she handed an orange flier to you, somehow pristine and unwrinkled. 

"see, the fraternities are having a sort of music competition, and the winner gets to record their own record and they win a scholarship! but only music majors and minors can participate, and you have to play a cover, it can't be your own song."

you looked down at the flier suspiciously. it said 'prospit alpha music tourney' at the top, which was where you assumed this 'fef' was from. at the bottom, there was the same message, but instead of 'prospit alpha' it said 'derse omega'. you forgot your college had two huge frat houses on campus. huh. you were considering just throwing away the flier when this girl left before you realized how much money the scholarship was. 

"t-twenty thousand dollars??"

"yeah!" she sounded way too hyped. "the college got a huge tax grant they don't know what to do with, so they gave it to us for us to use for our competition. awesome, right?" she grinned, patting you on the shoulder. "my number is on there. make sure you show up to auditions on wednesday at five if you want to participate. they're in the grand auditorium." and with that, she walked away, bouncing all-too giddily on her toes.

twenty thousand dollars. that was too many dollars. you could pay off your student loans so fast with that money. holy fuck.

your walked numbly to work, carefully folding the flier and sticking it in your back pocket. 

"john, are you alright?" porrim asked as you as you slipped and nearly fell on your ass as you swept.

"yeah, i'm fine. it's just, the fraternities are hosting this music contest and the prize is-"

"a fuck ton of money. i am aware."

"it's so much money, porrim. it's not fair."

"then audition. you have a good voice and you play piano like a badass."

you looked rather bewildered. you had honestly not even thought of actually trying out. just then, rose walked in, the bell above the door chiming merrily. "what's the news?" she asked. "did somebody spill the ink again? john, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"no," you said. "just a goddamn fucking stupid miracle." 

\


	6. tattoos hurt, man.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay this is gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i will update more frequently. i promise.

wednesday morning was slow for you

wednesdays were always slow for you if you were honest

it was kinda like your fucked up 'im in college i can do whatever the fuck i want' schedule

you wake up at seven something, go into your way too small closet and make remixes for a few hours. then eat lunch. then go out and feed the birds flying around outside. (again, totally ironic. birds are gay and they go beep beep and you definitely dont ACTUALLY love them you just. appreciate them. aesthetically.)

and when you come back in you realize you have about an hour before your tattoo thing and decide to couch surf for a while, watching old cartoons and sipping on shitty german beer (all german beer is shitty, youve decided) when you get a phone call.

you usually dont answer phone calls but you decided to this time of ALL the times you could fucking answer the phone without looking at the caller ID and

"hey, is this still dave?"

oh.

your heart sank a little bit in your chest. jesus.

the person on the phone was this guy you dated a really long time ago. his name was emery and he was tall and kind of gross and super depressed when you knew him and it hurt your heart to see him fall apart and leave you. yeah, it was the emily dude. so what? you were still kind of friends even if he still called you by your birth name sometimes and didnt see you as a guy and

ok no lets just

not

you swallow everything you want to say to this asshole and just

"dunno who else itd be considering i take wonderful care of my mobile device and never change my phone number."

"oh. well, hey, its emery."

"i get that." jesus this guy was thick.

"i just, wanted to catch up? uh." you could hear him sounding a little nervous and you knew he knew you were kind of pissed for disappearing. whatever.

"yeah, ok. do you want me to throw you a tennis ball or something? might be hard because i dont know where you live anymore. hows emily. she good? man. she was so all over you freshman year, man. hope you guys get married or something."

"well. we broke. we, uh. we broke up."

"i see. good choice in girls. whatd she do to you? cheat on you, cuss you out?"

"are you mad?"

"i mean, a little. you kind of just tossed me in the trash for a girl because your girlfriend was a transphobic ass."

"im sorry."

"ok. well. i dont even get why you called me. so." you chewed at the inside of your cheek, leaning back against the couch.

"i just. wanted to see if we could be friends again. i guess? i mean. if you can put behind all the feelings you have for me and stuff and i. yeah."

you laughed, this high-pitched thing that sounded really girly and you punched yourself inwardly and took a deep breath. "let me reiterate this. you. trashed. me. i dont have feelings for you. platonic or romantic. and yeah, we were in love once and you bought me my stupid fucking gay baby guitar and you made me happy and i could actually _confide_ in you but no, you ruined it. you ruined it. nice job, bro. and now youve just made it worse." you knew this was way more dramatic than necessary but you were angry and he was a douchebag and you hated him. you really did.

before he could say anything you hung up, he called you back but you left your phone at home as you made your way out into the rain. the wetness on your face hid the tears that were totally not coming out of your eyes. (you dont cry, not over him not over anyone, dammit he ruined your day)

 

 

it was about 2:30 and drizzling (like it always was, to be honest) when dave finally walked in, a little damp. no one was in today but you, so you kinda got pissed because, hey, you have to clean those floors.  "dude, don't get water all over the floor. this place is supposed to be sanitary!"

 

"shut the fuck up." he slammed his coffee on the counter, leaning over it to glare at him through his sunglasses. the asshole was always wearing those things, wasn't he? 

 

"damn, what's wrong with you?"

 

"everything. are we gonna do this thing or not?"

 

"uh. yeah? but i don't want you to be all tense and gross when we do this, it'll hurt."

 

"it sounds like you're about to fuck me, dude. just saying."

 

you furrowed your eyebrows, pouting at him as you got all your ink and stuff out. "wow, pervert! we haven't even had our first date."

 

"do you want one?"

 

oh. oh shit. dave is actually asking you this. "n-no," you stammer. "you're so weird. anyway, get over here. if you wanna tell me who mixed up the corn flakes and the scab collection, you can once you're lying down."

"gross, man. but obviously true. i had scabs for breakfast. absolutely fucking delicious. bon appetit, strider, here's your dead platelets served with whole milk." he was rambling as he trudged over to the pleather tattoo table. he really, sort of just. pulled his shirt off, leaving it to get wrinkled on the floor, and them collapsed facedown on the bench, arms hanging down limply.   


"well, straight to the point, huh? i'm gonna clean your back, okay?" you grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and a rag from the table. "it's cold. hold still." 

 

he gave a grunt of approval, so you carefully poured some of the liquid out onto a rag before pressing it to dave's skinny back. he flinched, grunting. "hey, shit."

 

"told you it was cold, asshole." you laughed.

 

you could practically hear him roll his eyes as you continued cleaning the skin. once you'd finished, you capped the rubbing alcohol and tossed the rag in the laundry bin across the room.

 

"okay, and time to apply this thing. i need to to sit up, and hunch over a little." you grabbed the paper you'd printed the design onto- now, once you applied it to his skin, it would be like a giant temporary tattoo.

 

"yeah. what're you doing?" he sat up carefully, doing as you told.

 

"applying the sketch thingy. for placement and accuracy stuff." carefully, you used a spray bottle to wet the paper- and then placed it onto dave's upper back. he tensed a little, didn't flinch or anything, so that was good. then, you sprayed it with water again, using another rag to press it onto his skin.

 

"what about the arm part of it?" he questioned, turning to look back towards you. 

 

"oh, i couldn't put it on this paper, so i'll do it in a sec." 

 

when you peeled off the back part of the design, you admired your handiwork. it looked pretty cool. "okay, so i'm gonna try to get you in, like, twice a week, and i only wanna do the whole temp tattoo thing, like, once. but, i know it washes off in a couple days, so just try to keep it intact till thursday, ok? at least the part that's not inked. so, like. don't take a shower."

 

"wow, influencing poor hygiene?"

 

you shook your head, eyes wide. "no! no no no no no. you need to keep the stuff i'm inking today really clean. since i live so close to you, i can help you if you want." you said this as you searched the table for the other applique. once you found it, you did the same process as on his back to his shoulder, making sure the lines lined up correctly.

 

dave sighed when you pull it off, "shit, did that hurt?"

 

"no, just bored."

 

you blinked. "oh. well, uh. wanna listen to some radio or something?"

 

"do you have 8tracks or pandora or something?"

 

you smiled. "dude, i made playlists on 8tracks all the time, hold up." you stood up from your little spinny rolly chair, bounding over to the counter.

 

"woah, woah. hold your horses, broseph." he held his hands up in a gesture to chill the fuck out, and you hesitated.

 

"what?"

 

"what kind of playlists."

 

"uh, i dunno. indie stuff."

 

"aight, that's chill. just making sure you weren't an extreme metalhead or you listened to contemporary christian or some shit."

 

"uh, haha, no." you turn on [a kind of sad playlist](http://8tracks.com/talia_silvax/its-3am-and-i-miss-you) that's good for ambient noise. it sounds good, it's got bastille in it, it reminds you of old times. 

 

when you return to the table, dave is bobbing his head slightly. 

 

"like it?" you smile.

 

"yeah. less-popular bastille songs are good." 

 

"thanks." you beckon for him to get up, make his way towards the mirror, ask him if the placement is good. he doesn't even hesitate, he just nods in approval and you're excited when he lies belly-down on that table again and you pick up your tattoo machine. "you ready?" 

 

"ready as i'll ever be. ready as someone is for buttsex for the first time. ready as a lesbian about to get a-"

 

"shhh. only tattoos now." carefully, you pressed the needle to his skin, the most painful part (mostly because it would give him a good picture about what's to come, and to get it over with), the area near his spine. he flinched, hissing.

 

"damn." 

 

you smiled. there was ambient noise and a sad monologue playing in the background; who knew this was considered music. "it's one am and i wanna be a part of you that will only matter when you bring it up to talk shit about me years later," you parrot. "love this guy. flatsound." 

 

"and together we'll repeat i love you until the mirror breaks." he grits out as your steady hand traces fine lines. "it's like my boyfriend." you blink. oh. "well, ex-boyfriend." quiet sigh. were you relieved? no, you weren't relieved. just. you don't know. 

 

"oh. who?" you say, trying to keep your hand steady.

 

"his name was emery," he says as a gritty, angry song comes on. "he was a dick and he dumped me because i'm-" he swallowed and you could feel him tense and you felt bad because it had to hurt to have you keep going when his muscles are so tight like that. like, seriously. ouch. 

 

"you're what?" you ask, curious but sounding bored because you're distracted. so he dated, guys, huh? good to know, but you honestly weren't surprised.

 

"i'm-i have depression." 

 

you don't stop, just keep applying the stippled lines and try to make this as painless as possible. "oh. that sucks. do you take prozac?"

 

"cilatopram." 

 

you nodded. "hopped on the no-grapefruit train, as well?"

 

"huh?"

 

you smiled. "well, you can't eat grapefruit on psych meds because they can make you accidentally overdose because it keeps to meds from getting into your blood. i take prozac, so." 

 

"oh. well, i don't-ow, what the dick- i don't eat them anyway. too sour." 

 

"sorry, dude! it kind of hurts. tattoos are like that. but anyway," you go one, moving onto the shorter feathers on the top side of the wing, making small lines, "emery." you couldn't help but feel he was hiding something from you.

 

"yeah, he. uh, he dumped me for this chick emily. and he called me today wanting to be all buddy-buddy again." 

 

"oh." you were quiet for a moment, staring down at dave's smooth, tan skin. the song had switched again, to a guitar acoustic thing that was just echo-y enough to be sad.

 

"teach me." dave sighed, and the tension melted out of his body. "you like keaton henson?"

 

"yeah. i do." you smiled. 

 

there was silence after that, broken every once and a while if dave was in pain or if dave wanted to mention a song that he like. (he hummed along to every keaton henson song, and 'breathe me' by sia) once an hour was up, you'd finished about a fifth of the tattoo. dark ink was beginning to bloom across his skin, leaving blood and redness in its wake. dave was shivering by the time it was done. he insisted he was just cold, but you knew he was probably in pain. 

 

"you need a ride home?" you asked. "i mean, you probably don't want to put your shirt on and it's raining pretty hard and. uh. yeah."

 

"sure, i guess. i mean, it's not like my place is down the hallway from yours or anything." 

 

you roll your eyes. "yeah, whatever, dipshit. come on."

 

when you both got back, dave sort of followed you to your place, mostly because you wanted to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. you did not trust him alone. he crashed on your couch, immediately conking out because he left his soy latte at the tattoo place (sorry porrim) and he said his back was burning. you sat in your room, experimenting with instruments on your piano.

 

around thirty minutes later, you heard the door close, and open again not too long later. you sat back in confusion. dave? a robber? what. 

 

and then, enter dave stage door with the most beat-up tiny guitar you've seen. (however, that is the first tiny guitar you've ever seen.)

 

"uh, hey. nice guitar." you say dumbly, and he scowls at you. "did i say something wrong?"

 

"it's a ukulele, you uncultured swine."

 

"oh. oh! those little hawaiian things."

 

"affirmative." he strummed a few chords with his forefinger, before falling into a pattern. "you like ingrid michaelson?"

 

"um, yes. who doesn't?" 

 

dave[ smiled.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvMVCHhwTPs) "don't you worry, there my honey..." he warbled, and you tilted your head. his voice was clean and high and not gritty at all and wow. wow. 

 

"we might not have any money..." you smiled, beginning to play chords on the piano. you loved his voice and both of yours together created a beautiful harmony, your voice deep and rough and his leading, high and sweet. 

 

and as the sun set, you played more songs, other than ingrid michaelson. you played train and the beatles and the rolling stones (it was so, so cliche) and even a cover of get lucky, at one point, and you prank called rose and danced to the barack obama uptown funk cover. 

 

and you passed out on the couch, limbs hanging off and you felt so alive again, instead of just holding on, it was like you were flying again. it was like you were weightless, weightless about this stupid boy and his stupid bird obsession and his stupid stupid stupid

 

STUPID

 

 


	7. STUPID STUPID STUPID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STUPID

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man idk have fun with chapter seven dont eat the carrots

STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID

dave was stupid with his stupid face and stupid hair and stupid everything and stupid. god. geez, you need to calm down. dave left in the morning after stealing your lucky charms and promising to put them in his pantry and not on top of the fridge, and you couldn't help yourself once he left, you buried your face in the couch where you two crashed last night in a tangle of gangly post-teenage boy and smelled him on your sheets and sort of felt bad a little because he left and now you were alone and and and god why ere you thinking about him so much???? why were you thinking about his stupid eyes that were a really pretty red because he had ocular albinism and his freckles and how he was a natural ron weasely ginger but he bleached it on a monthly basis to keep it blonde. god. god god god god stop.

you get up after a while, still freaking out if you freaking out in the first place wasn't obvious. god god god!!! god. you weren't- you didn't. like guys that much. or at least. oh, god. who are you kidding??? you had caught yourself sneaking peeks at dave's ass multiple times. and sometimes you just let it happen because... can't you appreciate a nice ass? and with that crazy sex dream you had where he was sucking your... weenie. yeah, weenie. he was eating a hot dog.

god, that metaphor was even worse. you hadn't thought much of it in your hangover stupor but all this realization was crashing down on you and you were The Homo.

you were homo. oh my god. ooohohoh my god you're gay.

you have to pester rose right now immediately!!!!! right now, right now right now right now.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 13:58.

EB: rose!!!!!!!!  
EB: rose rose rose rose ROSE????  
TT: Hello John.  
TT: What a wonderful greeting you've graced me with today.  
EB: rose rose rose rose... rose. rose.  
TT: Yes?  
TT: I do not think I've seen you this far into an Egbertian freakout thus far.  
TT: What seems to be ailing you?  
EB: i think i might be something i thought i wasn't for a really long time and i'm kinda freaking out and rose help??????  
TT: Alright, calm down.  
TT: Just tell me what it is.  
EB: rose, i think i'm...  
EB: i think i'm gay and oh my god rose i'm gay oh my GOD????  
TT: JOHN.  
TT: Calm down, for fuck's sake.  
EB: ok. ok.  
TT: Take a few deep breaths.  
EB: yeah.  
TT: Breathe in.  
EB: yeah yeah. yeah.  
TT: Breathe out.  
TT: What happened to have you come upon this revelation?  
EB: i just.  
EB: i realized i'd been kinda passing off all these REALLY GAY thoughts for me just being drunk or just naturally affectionate or something but i'm kinda starting to =alize that he's actually really cute and i wanna sorta kinda hold his and and god he turned me gay, rose  
EB: he turned me gay!!!  
TT: Who is this 'he' you speak of?  
EB: uh...  
EB: no one! no one.  
TT: Oh, come on. Now I'm curious about your love life.  
TT: Just spill.  
EB: bluuuuh.  
EB: promise you won't tell anyone?  
TT: Cross my dark, cold heart.  
EB: hehe.  
EB: well, it's dave, ok?  
EB: don't laugh.  
TT: Hmm.  
TT: I figured as much.  
EB: you did????????  
EB: oh god, is it obvious????  
TT: No, not to a heteronormative eye.  
TT: I have just received certain tidbits of incriminating information from my dear brother, is all.  
EB: did he tell you something????  
EB: oh god, does he like me? did he turn me gay because he wanted to put his dick in my butt????  
TT: Erm.  
EB: rose!!!!  
TT: Well, I believe we need to clear a few things up, first of all.  
EB: huh?  
TT: I believe you have a few ideas of sexuality, gender, and relationships that are a little too ignorant for the situation.  
TT: Not that I believe you wish to be ignorant. You grew up in a small suburb. It's normal not to hear much of sexuality.  
TT: First of all, no one is 'turned' gay. You are inherently born with the attraction to one, both, or all genders.  
EB: 'all' genders.  
EB: are you just fucking with me, or something?  
TT: Not at all!  
TT: There are many different genders. Just because you are born with a certain set of genitalia doesn't mean you are the gender assigned to that genitalia.  
EB: i still think you're pulling my leg, but you're nice and i trust you, so ok i guess.  
TT: Some people are born with penises or vaginas, and some people are intersex, but that doesn't define your gender.  
TT: For example, Eridan.  
EB: you mean kanaya's friend?  
TT: ...Friend, sure.  
TT: He is transgender.  
EB: oh. i, uh. never knew!  
EB: he doesn't wear skirts and stuff, so.  
EB: should i start calling him 'she'?  
TT: Thoughtful, but no.  
TT: He was originally female.  
TT: He is taking testosterone and he has had chest surgery to remove his breasts.  
EB: huh.  
EB: sounds like a lot of work and money, to be honest!  
TT: Well, think of feeling as if your entire body is wrong, and hating yourself due to this.  
TT: That is what he is feeling.  
EB: ...oh.  
EB: that's really sad, actually.  
TT: I suppose. And then there are genders in between, such as genderfluid bigender, et cetera.  
TT: And agender, the lack of a gender, lies outside of that spectrum.  
EB: that sounds cool, agender.  
EB: sounds like a superhero name!!  
TT: Agender, to the rescue.  
TT: They're here, they're queer.  
EB: so, do you call them by 'they', then?  
TT: yes.  
EB: ok.  
EB: wow, i feel so socially accurate!!  
EB: does the same go with sexualities, like.  
TT: There's sexualities in between?  
EB: yeah, like bisexual.  
TT: Yes, both gender and sexuality are a spectrum.  
TT: There's pansexual, an attraction to all genders, bisexual is an attraction to two, and so on.  
TT: Though bisexuality usually means attraction to both women and men it can mean otherwise.  
TT: There's many others, like polysexuals and then asexuals who reside outside of the spectrum and do not experience any sexual attraction.  
EB: oh.  
EB: so, they're like. celibate?  
TT: Not necessarily.  
TT: They may have sex to please their partner or because they enjoy the sensation.  
EB: ew, rose. scandalous!  
TT: Shh. But anyway, it very much only means that they experience no attraction, sexually. Though they may have romantic attraction.  
EB: oh, ok.  
EB: that actually clears up a lot of stuff.  
EB: i dunno, maybe i'm asexual?  
EB: because, i dunno. i'm just not for the whole sex thing, usually.  
TT: Perhaps. Though Dave did reveal some things that may suggest otherwise.  
EB: huh????  
EB: did he know i had a wet dream?????????  
EB: god that is so embarrassing.  
TT: Was it about him?  
EB: uh, no!!!  
EB: it was about, um.  
EB: lara croft.  
TT: i see.  
TT: maybe you are demisexual.  
EB: demisexual?  
EB: i'm attracted to percy jackson????  
TT: No, not that kind of demi.  
TT: Demisexuality is a form of asexuality. It just means that you only experience sexual attraction when you have a strong emotional bond with someone. **** EB: oh, ok.  
EB: but that still doesn't cover what gender i'm attracted to.  
TT: That would be your romantic orientation.  
TT: I would suggest that you might be panromantic.  
EB: so, that's, like. pansexual, but romantic attraction?  
TT: Indeed.  
EB: wow, ok.  
EB: this has been awfully informative, rose, and i am enlightened, but i have to go!!  
EB: i totally forgot this thing i have to do.  
TT: The auditions?  
EB: yes!!!  
TT: Well, good luck. I hope you have a good time. Drink some water.  
EB: hehe, ok. ttyl!  
TT: Talk to you later.  
ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 17:40.

shit shit shit shit!

you are freaking out again. you totally forgot about the audition today, at precisely four o clock. shit shit shiiiit. you have twenty minutes and you're still in your jammies.

the past few days, ever since you got that flyer from feferi, you have been practicing during pretty much all your freetime for the auditions for this music competition. your song is really good and you're excited and, yeah. you sorta were song-inspired by a certain asshole.

so, you pull on a pair of pants, almost putting them on backwards before rushing your way out the door to the parking lot, piano in a giant case that you chuck into the backseat of your prius before gunning it (as much as you can gun it in a prius) down the road to the campus auditorium, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel and tittering to yourself nervously as you go over the chords to your song once, twice, thrice more until the beat thrums stereo in your head and you feel like flying because it's so painfully good.

a few hours later finds yourself sitting nervously in a chair in the wings of the auditorium, listening to this very tall, muscular girl with cat ears meow very, very realistically as you bounce your leg on your giant piano case. you're struggling not to freak out as the judges clap because wow, you were next!! holy shit you were next. now that you're actually in the auditorium (you were in the choir room beforehand, practicing on the baby grand in there), you can hear the voices of the judges.

first, you hear feferi, completely recognizable due to her bubbly tone of voice. "WOW! that was so, so so so good, mrs. leijon! you most definitely have a chance at meowing the national anthem for our football team. what do you think, karkat?"

oh, it was that short, chubby, grumpy dude who liked to preach about civil rights in the middle of campus. "i thought it was pretty fucking weird, man. like how is this considered music, like, at all?"

you heard feferi laugh nervously. "sorry, karkat here sure is a jokester!"

"i'm not joking, you absolute fuckwit."

"karkat..." you heard some increasingly loud bickering and you saw nepeta shuffle awkwardly. there was a loud groan from the judges.

"look, can we stop fucking fighting? i thought it was good, and that's obviously all that matters. nepeta, we'll put you on the list, you're free to go."

holy shit.

was that?

you gaped as nepeta exited stage left, as you heard that familiar voice whisper to another judge, "don't put her on the list. she was too nice to say no to. just tell her it was cancelled if she asks."

it was dave.

you were going to be performing in front of your homo man crush.

oh my god.

 

god nepeta was so ridiculously, unironically weird and her meowing was so realistic it was actually making you feel like you wanted to sneeze. (you were allergic to cats)

once she walked off you looked back down at the list, going down the numbers. "alright, number 13, piano and voice, come on up, i guess."

youd been recruited as a judge for this stupid fucking thing by feferi because 1. she paid you to do so and 2. no one says no to the empress of the prospit alumni. no one. shes scary and no one fucks with her except maybe sollux but youre pretty sure theyre dating so whatever you guess

most of the people so far sucked. except maybe that islander girl who rocked the fucking bass guitar. what was her name, jade? you dunno. but it also seemed like she was fishing for compliments.

haha fish pun oh cod. wait god

feferi is starting to rub off on you a little much

anyway you sit back a little your legs propped up on the table basically just waiting for the next fuckup

its dark and no ones around

youre bored and your phone is dead

and out of the corner of your shades you spot him

_john egbert_

you jump a little bit, making paper go everywhere and making karkat whisper-yell at you but holy shit thats.

john egbert. setting up his angel piano with his angel hands.

feferi was writing something down. something positive about bringing his own instrument. youre goddamn glad he did, that thing has way better sound than that old baby grand and then you didnt have to recruit that sweaty guy to haul it from the choir room. (he was sorta weird and he had a strange obsession with horses but goddamn he had a body)

and once hes set up you realize that hes been avoiding your gaze the whole time and youre like, wow rude. were all friends here, egbert. you can look me in the fucking eye.

"and whats your name?" feferi asks, still writing.

"erm, my name. john... john egbert?" wow he was so nervous. fucking nerd.

"alright, john egbert. show us what youve got."

and when john sits down on the little black stool hed stolen form backstage and pores over his piano keys he looks so at home, goddamn. hes like the little old lady that lived in a shoe but instead hes a large, sexy young man who sleeps on a piano and has a considerably less amount of children than the little old lady

and when he starts playing, you recognize the chords instantly even though the original song is a guitar tab

and oh god you hearts seizing up a little because you

_teach me how to love you, like i won't..._

you specifically mentioned this song to him in the tattoo shop and youre suddenly aware of how the hard lines on your back sting as he plays that piano like a god.

_and say it like i mean it when i don't..._

you shut your eyes and listen. you cant. you cant do this.

_teach me how to hold you in my arms,_

_without squeezing too damn tight and causing harm_

_i'll learn not to look at you with scorn_

_i will if you promise to never have been born_

feferi seems wholly engrossed when you crack open your eyelids again to see john half-lidded over the keys of his piano, not even looking nervous and god you want to vaporize right now.

_by all means, give me your lessons in my ways,_

_but damn it, don't expect me to change_

_mold me to the man that i should be,_

_but don't consider that man to be free_

_and how am i expected to behave,_

_how when i'm alone with myself everyday_

even karkat seems to be into it. neither of them are writing. good sign. writing is reserved for mistakes. 

__

_i never loved you enough, my love_

 

_and i'll never hold you close enough_

 

  
_teach me how to love you like i wrote_  


  
_and say it like i mean it when i don't_  


 

and when the song closes out with a final fading chord, the room is silent for a moment until you bring two fingers to your mouth, on on each corner of your lips, and whistle. 

 

feferi looks at you for a moment before she starts clapping enthusiastically and karkat claps along with you guys. john stands shakily, taking a bow. 

 

"i... i honestly don't have words! what do you have to say, dave?" 

 

"that was fucking amazing and i hope the staff judges love you just as much as i-as we did." dodged a bullet there

 

it wasnt that you LOVED him or anything you just

 

loved his piano playing and his hands and how into his music he was and

 

john walked off stage and you got a few more finalists and when you went home you curled up to that same song as you lay faceup on the carpet and contemplate what a gay, gay mess you have become.

 

its so fucking stupid.

 

ironically stupid, of course.


	8. dirk strider, and birds who enjoy phallic objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IM SORRY THIS IS SHORT......... PLS ENJOY MY GAY FEELINGS
> 
> EDIT: i lengthened this chapter and i changed the title.

it was three am by the time you got home. you ended up going out with rose for dinner. which meant that you smoked a couple cigarettes. which meant that you felt like shit by the time you made it back to your apartment. smoking never made you feel good, but you felt so weird when rose did it in front of you like that. like, what were you supposed to do? just stand there like an idiot?

you opened the door to the stairwell, rubbing your eyes before beginning your ascension.

your legs burned as you reached the top, and you felt a little bad that you were out of breath after only, like, four flights. that was nothing! c'mon, john. get your shit together.

the last person you expected to run into was dave. was the entire world against you tonight?

"oh! uh. hey, dave." you ran your hand through your hair, blinking at him. he looked tired.

you also wanted to talk to him really bad. but you felt like, maybe, it wasn't the time? or, maybe... you didn't know. whatever.

"yo." you saw dave quirk an eyebrow, and you suddenly felt yourself become really self-conscious. you were up at three am, and you smelled like cigarettes. you felt like a teenager about to get yelled at by his mom for being out past curfew.

"you were bomb today, bro. i didn't know you were doing the auditions." 

"oh! well. uh. yeah, i mean." you shrugged. "the scholarship prize was insane. i didn't see a reason not to try, so!" you smile at him, sheepishly. 

"yeah, you'd definitely have to be stupid not to try out. i mean, i'm getting paid slash blackmailed to be a judge for it, so." he shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "hey, who were you smoking with?"

"oh, rose." 

dave wrinkled his nose. "gross."

"hey, rose isn't that bad. don't be rude, she's your sister!" your cross your arms over your chest, giving him a rather petulant look. god, dave was so insensitive sometimes. well, at least, for the extent that you knew him, he was. you realized you hadn't really known him that long. it seemed like a lot longer than it was...

"john, hello?" you jumped at fingers snapping in your face- looks like you'd lost your train of thought. whoops. you shrugged an apology, putting on the same sheepish smile as before, which only made dave make a face. you had a feeling that face pissed him off. you silently stowed that away in your 'how to be an asshole friend' file in your brain (yes, that is totally a thing you have). 

"it's not that i don't like rose. she just smokes newports. they're gross. well, i mean, all cigarettes are pretty gross, but newports are nasty ass. why are you smoking, anyway?"

"mostly just because rose was, i guess. it's easier than standing there like a preppy idiot while he has a smoke." 

"i've learned there is no in between with cigarettes. you hate them or you smoke them. it's always one extreme or the other." he turned around, looking back at the door of his apartment. "hey, i should probably go. i only came out here to pick up my paycheck because one of my buddies volunteered to drop it off for me because i've been busy."

"by busy do you mean lazy?"

"yes." 

you snort, hitting him in the shoulder. he didn't even flinch, but as you walked away, you saw him rub his arm sorely and retreat into his apartment.

 

 

 

you hate yourself

well you mean you love yourself for being a badass but you also hate the fact that you basically just now admitted to john your intense anxiety in situations dealing with confrontation with a superior. you mean

was it that obvious? it was probably really obvious

you werent really in the best of moods at the moment you guessed

you were tired and your paycheck was really small which meant you had, like, twenty bucks to get you through to the next month. ah ramen. your lord and savior. you are simultaneously glad and angry that it exists. 

but anyways back to feeling angsty about revealing way too much about yourself to a boy you liked. 

did you like him? well

you guess you did

he was tall and he was actually really fucking attractive. he looked like a hispano-indian chris pratt... with glasses... and blue eyes

you dont even know how someone can have eyes that blue especially when theyre fucking brown 

like jesus shit you could swim in those eyes. they were an ocean.

his breasts. were an ocean.

silly jokes aside, you did like him. and it was frustrating because there was all this shit he was already predisposed to hate about you.

to illustrate:

1\. you are transgender (sometimes to fail to believe it yourself, until you look in the mirror and realize that your stp is NOT a real penis) 

2\. you grew up in a terrible family situation. no matter how much you can gush about how awesome your bro was, it doesnt excuse him being an absolute piece of shit, like, literally all the time. he was constantly training you, constantly fighting you, and you never got a taste of what normality was like till you moved out. like, you thought a fridge was for sword storage and to pretend that food went there. that was just how your life went 

3\. youre???? extremely annoying literally all the time and legitimately frightened of loud noises (which you will never tell anyone) 

 

theres plenty of reasons for him not to like you. mostly because you sort of suck.

 

you mean. you probably shouldnt even be pursuing this. it sounds like a bad idea in general because hes probably straight or something and he probably wont understand shit about your weird genitalia situation. 

"uuuugh." you groan, flopping back on your futon. this sucked. liking people sucks.

you can't say you were all too surprised when dirk busted through your door.

"so youre a judge for that music thing."

you shrug noncommittally. 

"fef blackmail you?"

"basically."

"who was that guy?"

"have you been stalking me or something? man, one tick up on the weird-o-meter for you."

"i was in the neighborhood. decided to drop in on my dear, sweet brother. but i guess he doesnt wanna see me. shame. guess ill just take my cinnamon waffles and go."

you get up. you walk towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders, flicking his shades up into his hair. no one jokes about waffles. "where are the waffles."

he smirked. "dunno. my memory might be refreshed, however, if you enlighten me as to who that hunk outside was."

you groan, pursing your lips. why does it always have to fucking be this way with dirk. why. "his name is john. he was an auditioner." 

"for what, the opportunity to make you his personal dick cozy?"

you shudder, making a face. "dude, what the hell. at the fucking, music thing. he played the piano. man, if youre so curious about him, why dont you go over there and talk to him!" 

a pause. "im gonna do that."

what. "what."

and with that, dirk turned on his heel, opening the door and leaving you with your arms frozen and outstretched into the air for, maybe, half a second before you fucking hauled and started chasing his skinny, gay ass down the hall. 

 

 

 

you were just about to go to bed when you heard a knock on your apartment door. who the hell knocks at three in the morning? wait, actually, it was closer to four now. uh-oh, danger zone, you had to get up early for classes tomorrow. fuck. okay. answer the door.

you answer the door. and standing there, panting, is who seems to be a giant, lanky clone of dave with anime shades and normal, small dave. haha, he's so little. why is there a big version of him?

"uh... can i help you?" you venture, looking thoroughly confused. 

the taller blond stuck out a hand. "the name's dirk. strider. i'm dropping in to visit my little bro here. thought i might visit the music protegee he won't shut up about."

dave, behind him, was going through a number of strange gestures. first, shaking his head vigorously, then trying to pull dirk away from the door, then he moved to just bumping his forehead against dirk's arm, and then the standard decapitation 'cut it out gesture' before he gave up on trying to stop him.

so this was dirk. huh. he was... tall. taller than you, which is seriously saying something. 

"oh, uh. haha. i mean, i wouldn't consider myself a protegee by any means. i just like playing the piano! i've played since i was a little kid, so."

"so i've heard. mind if we come in?"

"well, it's kind of late..." you bit your lip. to be courteous or not to be courteous? 

"YEAH DIRK! IT'S KIND OF LATE." suddenly, dave was yelling. he was also a furious shade of red. wow, you didn't know dave could get embarrassed! "HOW ABOUT WE GO. YES? YEAH? ALRIGHT." he began to drag dirk off with a surprising amount of strength for his tiny body. they quickly disappeared down the hall. 

"uh. nice meeting you, i guess." you mumble, closing the door and finally, finally getting in bed.

 

 

when you wake up the next morning, it's to incessant squawking outside your window.

you sit up, blinking and rubbing your eyes blearily, squinting at your window across the room. why must your window be so far away? 

your bed was sort of just a mattress on the ground, and a few feet across the room, your window continued to be annoyingly bright, your desk underneath reflecting the sunshine. your glasses, your laptop, and your plants were all sitting on it, and you blinked again in confusion. you left your glasses over there last night? well, shit.

you get up slowly, stretching the soreness out of your feet. (for some reason, your feet were always sore after sleeping.) you grab your glasses and slide them on once you're at the window, scratching at the minor amount of hair on your chest as you open the blinds and peer outside.

your window overlooks the parking lot for your apartment complex, and your eyes widen as you look down onto it.

the birds are back.

to remind yourself, when you first moved out, a hoard of birds would follow you back from the grocery store nearly every time you went there. you never had any idea why, until they attacked you while you were outside eating a banana. turns out the birds really, really like bananas, and so you've gotten them to leave you alone by driving whenever you buy them and leaving a few pieces of banana out by the tree near the grocery store where you sometimes saw them. 

however, it looks like someone left a banana, unpeeled, just sitting out in the middle of the lot. and there were, like, twenty birds out there, all fighting over it. 

"holy fuck," you whisper. man, you knew birds were desperate for food sometimes, but this was ridiculous! they were fighting over an unpeeled banana!

you sort of just sat on your desk and watched them as you ate cereal straight out of the box that you kept under your desk for emergencies (this was totally an emergency), and you were contemplating going down there and giving them some chopped up bananas when you saw someone open the door of the bottom floor. 

and what do you know. it was dave and dirk.

what a surprise.

dave's bullshit is starting to get normal to you. is that weird? rose said it was just a side effect of being friends with him, or even just knowing him at all. 

however, it really is a surprise when you find that dave can approach the birds without getting his eyes pecked out or without the birds flying away. barely any of them notice, and the ones who do seem to just shrug it off and keep fighting over the banana. 

dirk's behind him, too, his arms crossed and what you assume is this smug smirk on his face as he tapes the whole thing on his phone. no wonder dave didn't mention dirk when you had dinner that one time. fucker probably embarrasses the shit out of him.

you shove another handful of cereal in your mouth as dave carefully continues approaching the birds. you can't really tell what he's doing from this far away, but he looks like he's looking for something specific. was that banana his? was it some kind of special banana? you couldn't even see it through the writhing feathers anymore.

you watch as dave slowly just. reaches into the pile of fighting birds. and produces a little black one that's totally comfortable sitting on his finger.

what? alright, what?

you're sick of just watching. you throw some sandals on (over your socks but they're athletic sandals, it's okay!) and race down the stairs, eager to see what the hell is going on. you're ninety percent sure that dave is a bird whisperer.

 

 

 

you are currently standing in a parking lot feeling like chris pratt and the raptors with this bird just sitting on your finger

but you should probably recap the happenings of this morning because your memory is failing you thus far.

so, you woke up to find that dirk had opened all the windows. which was no good in the first place but also really not good because that means that dewey flew out

btw dewey is your bird. hes a crow and hes really small and he cant fly right because he broke his wing falling out of his nest as a chick. youre surprised he survived falling three stories. hes a hero.

so you first, yell at dirk, who just grumbles and shrugs and makes you coffee, which you yell at him for doing but drink anyway. why is he here? why is he ever here? once you finish said coffee, you throw some clothes on and check all the windows, looking for where dewey might have escaped. 

you see a couple scrabble marks up one wall, to the window in the bathroom. and a single, black, downy feather on the sill. you can tell he got out this way. you have birdy sense. 

this window was facing the parking lot, and you could hear squawking that sounded awfully suspicious. 

hence, you trudge down the stairs to the parking lot, dirk in tow with his phone because he 'HAS to snapchat this, dave, you dont understand' 

when you make it there, you realize its the hoard of crows you stole your dildo.

how, you ask. how do birds steal a dildo? 

well, it wasnt a used dildo or anything. you bought it for a birthday party so you could suction cup it to the wall and throw rings on it. when you finished your drunken fun with it, it was sitting in the dumpster in the parking lot. one morning, while getting in your car to head to work, you saw, like, five birds dragging it away. you took a video of it and you still find it hilarious. 

but yeah, these were the same crows. you couldnt tell what they were fighting over, but it was probably something phallic. you swallow down the fear of getting scratched or pecked or whatever and you creep out the door, making your way towards the pile of birds. it was literally a pile at this point, all the birds squawking and pecking over whatever the prize was. you knew that dewey had probably joined the fray. that bird cant get far, he can barely fly for longer than thirty seconds. he also loves you. he wouldnt leave forever on purpose. 

you squint, searching through the writhing black bodies for a red leg band. you put it on the bird solely for situations like this. there are a lot of crows that live around here. if he ever escaped, the band would just prove for easier identification. 

and suddenly, you see a flash of red. yesss, there he was. without hesitating, you reach your hand into the fray, wiggling your fingers a little till you feel something pricking the top and bottom of your index and middle. when you pull your hand away, dewey is sitting there, looking at you with his little black eyes. he made a weird bird noise and tilted his head, ruffling his feathers. 

"what are you guys fighting over?" you ask him, scratching him under the chin. you hear dirk giggle from behind you and and mentally flip him off. dewey is your bird and if you wanna have father-son time with your bird, youre gonna have father-son time with your bird and he can go fuck a cactus. 

you finally attest to being finished with this situation. you let dewey perch on your shoulder as you make your way back to where dirk is standing.

just as youre about to mount the stairs, you know whos barreling down them like some kind of bull in a china shop?

john motherfucking egbert. and hes also shirtless. you make a note that he has very nice nipples. man, those are some good nipples. you could jerk it to those nipples.

"dave! hey." he wheezed, looking at you and then at the hoard of birds. "i. how did you? you." he pointed at dewey and you resisted the urge to shield him with your hands.

"uh?" 

"theres a bird on your shoulder."

"oh."

"how?"

"hes my bird. his name is dewey."

"how did you find him with all those _other fucking birds???"_  

you shrug noncommittally. "he has a leg band." 

"jesus. theyre fighting over a banana. they used to attack me over them."

suddenly, the dildo thing makes sense. the dildo was yellow. to a bird, it must have looked exactly like a banana. why do these birds like bananas so much? even dewey likes them. you feed them to him for a special treat once a week. good potassium. 

"oh. that sucks, bro. i promise dewey wont attack you. hes cool."

dirk suddenly piped in. "okay, i hate to interrupt your bird party here, but why are you shirtless?"

"uh..." john looked down at himself. its almost like he didnt fucking know he was shirtless. "i just woke up, haha. sorry guys. i was just really curious as to what was going on down here!"

you shrug, giving a "scool" before you hear dirk just scoff. he knew you were gay for this guy, he KNEW, and he was being so immature about it. what an asshole. couldnt he shut up about your feelings for two fucking seconds? you wonder who told him. did rose tell him? rose probably told him. rose definitely told him. what an asshole. 

"so, uh. im gonna go. unless if you wanna schedule your next appointment? we never did, aha."

oh shit right. you forgot to call him about that. (or you got too nervous but WHATEVER same thing) "oh yeah sure i mean, im not doing anything. do you have anything planned, dirk?" 

he just shrugged and grumbled, turning tail and walking back up the stairs. 

victory. dirks not as persistent as you thought.

"well, do you wanna, like, go to village inn, or something?" john shrugged. 

you flushed a little. "geez, bro, at least let me get changed."

he snickered. god his nose fucking crinkled in just the right way when he did that. fuck. "yeah, i need to get dressed too. how about we meet out here in, like, twenty minutes?"

"fifteen." 

"alright, haha. see you then?" 

"yeah."

you both turn to go separate ways till you realize you have to take the same flight of stairs. you both laugh and climb them and youre sort of freaking out because you have a DATE with john egbert oh my god, its a date. you have a date with john egbert.

 


	9. the date: part one. in which john and dave have very different mental processes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT IVE BEEN SAD AND BUSY
> 
> anyways the saga continues. my chapters will continue to be broken and short.

basically you are in the car with one john egbert about to drive to a shoddy village inn and you are half really ready to eat pancakes and half terrified because this is totally a date, he asked you to go to village inn with him, oh my god, dont freak out dont do it dave  
anyways you are driving down some side street (you have learned john does not like highway driving) and youre taking some weird roundabout way to the vi. youre surprised to find it really goddamn nice though because its an old community and its full of big trees and old houses

you can also see birds doing their thing on the sidewalks every few blocks and it reminds you of dewey (whom you left home with plenty of treats so he wouldnt feel too bad that you were gone) and you also think of the weird bird incident and you cringe a little because wow, that was embarrassing

anyways yeah. in the car. john drives a nice little subaru that has four wheel drive and smells like pine trees on the inside. he has a cute little blue steering wheel cover and he has the ghostbusters logo in his back window. you never fail to underestimate how much of a nerd john egbert is. he is a huge nerd. the hugest nerd you have ever met.

 

you are driving dave (and yourself, duh) to village inn and you realize you totally forgot to shave, oops. you probably totally have some stubble on your face that's making you look like a hobo or something. or maybe you just look like markiplier? people tell you that you look like him (well, you are part korean somewhere down the line). also, dave is in your car, yeah. he's so short he almost looks a little small for the seat, like he's a kid trying to ride in the front even though that's totally illegal. he smells like those yankee apple-cinnamon candles you can buy at bath and body works, and he's wearing a cute plaid scarf that he was burying his nose in when you met him in the parking lot.

you're kind of glad you managed to dress at least menially nicely- a button-down and a relatively clean hoodie- because otherwise, you'd feel a little shabby compared to dave. he seemed to always have his shit together, even if he was, like, shirtless when you first met him. even then, he looked put-together, like he was about to go to the beach (even though it was autumn). 

he is, you realize, pretty cute. you're sort of caught up in the little moment- you watch him use the tips of his fingers to scoot some white-blonde hair out of his eyes, and adjust his sunglasses on his face until they rest more comfortably on the bridge of his nose. his chest rises and falls, his converse-clad feet tap out a beat on the floor of the car, and his hands shift in his pockets. you wonder how nice those hands would be laced with yours...

you realize that you're not paying attention to the road, and you almost hit a cat crossing the street (this earns a surprised noise from the boy next to you- it's a little high-pitched, like his breath hitched and the noise was just the air leaving his lungs. you wonder if he's good at singing). you grip the wheel a little harder- not enough to be white-knuckled but just enough to be aware of what the car is doing. dave doesn't look nervous even though you almost just made a cat pancake. bless him and his tangible lack of awkwardness in natural situations.

 

oh my god this was the most awkward thing you have ever experienced you cant talk you cant breathe you are going to die. john is next to you and you cant stop imagining whats going to happen in the span of the next hour and you are dearly, fervently hoping it is not just a friend thing. its probably a friend thing. john probably doesnt like guys, let alone guys like you. 

normally your dysphoria didnt do to much to fuck up your jam but today it was like you could feel your scars prickling against your sweater and the wideness of your hips jammed hella uncomfortably in the seat. why are you such a girl. your feet tap impatiently god cant you just get to the restaurant already. john could probably tell that the shape of your body wasnt just a particularly feminine figure and oh god, if john found out hed probably die. he barely knew the guy, he wouldnt get it

the car swerves a little and you sorta hit the side of the car and make the girliest squeak noise thing. you sound like a dog toy. john looks like he twitches, tilts his head a little closer to you, and oh my god he totally knows

welp 

guess you just

wont bring it up its not like youre dating anyway right????? friends. just. friends.

your mind is a constant chant of 'death' on full volume and you curl your hands into the pockets of your jacket. please let the worlds most awkward commute to a shitty breakfast slash pie restaurant be over.

 

you're surprised when you pull into the parking lot- the drive was shorter than you thought it would be, you think. you turn off the car and climb out, feeling the backside of your jeans for your wallet (oh, man, dave probably saw you grope your own ass. oops) and making sure you have your phone. 

dave crawls out of the car shortly after you, and he buries his face deeper into his scarf. his cheeks are already a little rosy with the chill, and you gesture for him to follow you inside. he begins to walk, but a little slow, like he's hesitating- you consider taking his hand, but you stop yourself. who knew if this was okay? maybe dave had a boyfriend, you'd never covered that topic. 

or maybe he just thought you had a boyfriend or something??

no, he wouldn't think that. he might not even be gay, for all you know.

well, you guess you could... give it a go, but what if he was straight, god that would be so awkward. your mind turns into a muddled mess as you awkwardly shuffle your way forwards.

"hey, can you hold this?" you hear behind you, and you turn to see dave holding out a gloved fist, with his knuckles turned upwards. oh, it looked his he wanted you to hold something for him. maybe his phone or something? his keys? you hold out your hand, palm up... and, oh. he just. oh.

he just laced his fingers with yours oh god you're holding hands. 

his hand is warm (but kind of scratchy because, yeah, wool gloves) and his fingers are kinda long and gangly like he plays some sort of instrument (which, you know, he does). you swear you can feel his pulse in his palm, a little put-put against the crook of your thumb, and you smile, swinging your arms a little.

 

you are considering this thing you saw in a vine. is it sad that youre considering something you saw in a vine? probably. basically this girl goes up to this guy while holding out a fist and goes 'hey can you hold this' and the guys like 'yea sure' but when you think shes gonna drop whatever it is into his hand she just. holds his hand.

okay so maybe thatll work because if hes straight he might laugh he might think its funny. maybe. you hope dearly. you swallow your courage because wow, this was nerve wracking. truly action-movie climax material.

god you're an insufferable, ridiculously uncool nerd.

however, you realize that the fact that this entire thing is ridiculously uncool that it probably makes it cool???? because. youre essentially being the pinnacle of awkward middle school crush irony right now.

your brain distracts you from your motor functions and suddenly you are reaching out and you almost pull away when you finally derail that train of thought but then youre asking him if he can hold 'this' (this being your hand, obviously) and youre lacing your fingers with his and wow his hands are big and warm and you are so gay. 

 

the restaurant is warm and smells like fresh-baked pies, you realize as you are seated. it's a nice little booth seat, near the back of the restaurant, and you finally have to let go of his hand as you sit down, much to your disappointment. you are greeted by a fake-bubbly waitress with curly, dark hair. 

"morning, you two. my name is aradia, and i'll be your sever today," she says in a quiet monotone as she places menus in front of the both of you. "can i get you started on any coffee today?"

"hot chocolate." dave blurts out immediately, and you laugh. you couldn't blame him, though. village inn's hot chocolate was so good. 

"i'll take one as well, please." you say this as you look up at her. you think you recognize her from your history class. megido, you think. really pretty. dating the computer geek.y

you watch she scribbles this down on her little notepad, giving them a rouge-lipped smile before leaving, telling them she'd return with that as soon as possible. 

and now, you're left alone with dave, and he's fiddling with his phone, playing some game. wow, he pulled that out fast.

"what'cha playing?" you ask, leaning over the table a little.

he pauses a little, looking up at you. he looks visibly surprised by you being interested in him, and it makes something in your chest flutter feebly. "uh, this cat game. it's called, uh. something in japanese, hold on." he presses his home button.

"neko atsume?" you ask when you see the app's logo- a rather content-looking white cat. "oh, i love that game. my favorite is peaches."

"dude, peaches is so hard to get, though! i haven't gotten her yet."

"okay, first of all, she really likes the aluminum pad. and second of all, who knows that peaches is a girl? peaches might be a boy, just saying."

"alright, alright, whatever. i won't press my gender roles onto fictional kittens. fine." he rolled his eyes, laughing a little, and you pull out your own phone, tapping out your passcode.

"have you gotten john dimeowggio yet? it took me forever."

you have a feeling it's going to be a long date. 

well, at least it's going to be a good, long date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY HELD HANDS!!!!!!!!!!!!


	11. the date part 2: i dunno man theres angst

you ordered some strawberry crepes, and dave ordered this weird sausage toast sandwich thing. you don't know why people order salty stuff for breakfast- you can't handle stuff like that in the morning! it's way too heavy and it makes you feel groggy. dave's doing just fine with it though, apparently. he also got like, apple flavored tea. apparently it's a special thing- he's a regular here, you guess. (you've sworn you've seen him here before, on your drunken, midnight runs to get cheap pie.) 

you've sort of been staring at him. he has a small nose, unlike you- yours was pretty pronounced and it spoke about the italian you had somewhere in your blood. his shades are a tiny bit too big for his face, but you find it endearing. maybe for his birthday you'll get him a pair that actually fit. you sort of realize that you might be falling down the rabbit hole a little too much, but you don't care. he has high cheekbones, and a spattering of freckles on his cheeks. his eyebrows, as far as you could see, are well-groomed, and thinner than most guys you'd seen. due to his complexion, he might have some east asian in him, but the dark tan of his skin suggested he's perhaps of hispanic or filipino descent. you know, for a fact, that you're mexican- at least, your mom was. you never really knew your mom though. your dad is- was, you remind yourself- indian, and his mom, your grandmother, was white. you still have pictures of her from the fifties. she used to be a pinup model- oh god don't think about your sexy grandma right now. 

oh, fuck. dave's staring back.

"like what you see, or something?" he snickers, but you could tell from the pinkness in his cheeks that he was a little flustered. you immediately turned your gaze to your phone, which was sitting on the table, pouting out your bottom lip a little.

"no, you just, uh... have something on your face," you say, and he puffs out a little air, leaning over the table a little.

"yeah, what i've got on my face is a big, thick smothering of hunk. and you like what you see."

you pause for a moment.

was that supposed to be sexy or something?

despite your better judgement, you burst out laughing, pushing him away.

"ahahahaha, oh my god, dude."

"what? c'mon, that was sexy. you're swooning."

"oooh, mr strider, oooh." you put the back of your hand up against your forehead, mock fainting onto the booth seat. eww, bad idea, it smells like piss down here.

"ugh, you're so dumb. that was totally cool, you just have no taste." oh, now he was pouting. you sat up, still giggling a little.

"or you're just a dork. y'know, just maybe."

"shut up."

the banter went like this for a while- it was nice, easy. simple. it was really nice just to get to talk. you discussed a few video games (primarily dragon age, because WOW the solas romance sucks. so bad), and then you sort of delved into the whole personal life thing. dave sort of wheedled it out of you that your dad died about two years ago, but you think that you surprised him. you weren't all the broken up about it- not anymore, at least. he was dead. it didn't matter how he died or why he died. not anymore, at least. you'd gotten over it.

however, it didn't really seem like he could get over _his_ dad. err, 'bro', you guessed. you had some assumptions that both dirk and dave's 'brother' was some teen dad who got the kids once the mom ditched them. you wouldn't be surprised, that's for sure. that's also probably why he called himself 'bro'- the age gap was significantly less between them. however, either dave knew this and was just so used to calling him 'bro', or you were wrong. 

 

the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn and you were not happy about this development

first it was johns dad and now it's YOUR dad (brodad, bro, whatever) and you do not want to talk about this

yeah bro is your big brother biologically but he was like a stepbrother and when your parents died he took you and dirk in and shit

the entire situation reminds you direly of 'dance music' by the mountain goats but instead of the mom its dirk in front of you getting hit with a glass bottle and its you running to your room to blast some shit indie music till you cry yourself to sleep

not that striders cry or whatever

just a metaphor

and youve never really come to terms with bro being a shit person even though you knew he was it was just

hard to accept that

you mean he was your role model. he still is your role model. hes smart and strong and outspoken. you mean yeah, hes a piece of shit or whatever but he was still a pretty banging guy. you could equate him to some modern-day gatsby you guess, throwing his money around and chasing some forgotten dream thatll never happen

you sort of feel like thats where youre at

you mean

john is so

real to you and youre so fake in every aspect

your chest is fake and your hormones are fake and your stubble is fake and youre not sure if he knows any of this

the silent exchange you had in the car might have been something but at the same time youre still afraid

but john

man

hes really like, a real man

you mean hes tall and buff and dark skinned and his hair is nice and he can probably grow more body hair in a day than you have in your entire life

and yeah, its sort of fucked up that you think that way but thats how you _feel_ and you cant just change that

you sink down a little in your seat as you fumble with your phone. youre still holding your tea in one hand, drinking little sips when you can. you feel bad for sort of halfway ignoring john but he looks content to let the silence last and he just finishes off his crepes (who the fuck eats sweet stuff for breakfast, what the hell) and scrolls through some feed on his own phone

you also feel bad for being angsty but you sort of forget about it because the waitress is back sooner than you think and youre getting the check and john pays it (much to your protest, you can pay for your own grilled sausage sandwich, thank you very much) and youre stepping back outside into the cold and youre walking around the building

wait why are you walking around the building the car is the other way

 

you feel dave's hand clench in yours a little as you completely miss the car, walking around the building to a small corner sheltered by an awning that runs along the entirety of the wall. it's started to snow, and you feel the cold collecting in your scalp and biting on your face a little. you sort of end up backing dave into a corner, both of your hands in his, and he looks _scared_ , like this wasn't supposed to happen or was never supposed to happen and you swallow a little. this is how dates are supposed to end, right? kissing? kissing is nice. kissing is okay. you steel yourself, looking at his face and idly fingering the arm of his sunglasses. 

"hey." you say.

"hey," he parrots, and he doesn't do anything so you carefully slip them off, looking at his vibrant, unnatural eyes, letting out a careful breath that comes out steamy and white. you had a vague idea that his eyes were red- you'd seen them from the side and you knew he had a form of albinism- but this was just breathtaking. they were pink on the sides and his pupils were red and you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper into this proverbial hole you'd dug for yourself. god, just get a coffin already, because you're dead.

you lean in a little, your eyes locked on his and he's biting his lower lip and he looks so small, so vulnerable like this. you feel scared for him. you don't want him to feel like prey around you.

"can i kiss you?" you mumble, and he just tilts his head.

"huh?" oh, you were too quiet. you can still back out if you want.

"can, i, uh." you swallowed. "k. kiss..."

and suddenly, dave is up in his toes and his lips are on yours and they're warm and soft and they have this strange, primal familiarity like your lips fit perfectly into his and you feel like, for a moment, that you love him and you're picking him up and twirling around and he has his legs wrapped around you and his arms are looped around your neck, and when you pull away his eyes are still scrunched up a little and he looks so _concentrated_ and you just want to take this moment and bottle it up so you can experience it again, forever. you never have felt more happy- the moment is just so pure to you, so perfect, like nothing could have gone wrong, and you grin at him.

his mouth doesn't turn up, but his eyes crinkle a little at the corners, and that's enough for you.

 

when john kisses you, you feel like all the worries and lies youve been keeping pent up fly away. you want to tell him about your bro and about your life and about _you_ and you want to give him the world, you want to give him your world, and- its over, just like that, and hes setting you down on the cold concrete and hes hugging you as gently as you think he can and you think, for a moment, that you love him and you never want this moment to end, you want to store it away in your brain so that you never have to stop experiencing it.

youre so scared but youre also so fucking _ecstatic_ as you walk to the car, hand in hand, and you think of 'no children' by the band aforementioned and you feel your throat tighten because you know that one day you do actually have to tell him, and hell probably hate you for not being honest, but at the same time when you sit on the edge of the passenger seat and light a smoke as he listens to some folk band and pats the beat on the steering wheel you wish you had never met him. you dont want to experience betraying him, because thats what its going to be when you tell him and you hate yourself a little more and you take a long, long drag 

suddenly the cigarette is nothing but the filter and you throw it into the snow, climbing back into the car with no expression on your face and unreachable dreams swimming in your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gross. i'm sorry.


	12. gay power couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i dunno. heres some gay.

so basically, the date happened, and the kiss happened, and you guys went home and skyped all night ( even though you literally live down the hall from each other). you also sort of forgot you had class, and you spent half the morning making up your work before heading off to the classes you didn't miss. which was fun, you guess. you also totally forgot to reschedule with dave, but since you were a little more welcome to just walk into his house nowadays, you decided to come over after your classes were over with your stuff and keep working on the lining. 

when you arrive, using the key dave kept hidden by a string from the underside of the door (the dumbest thing ever, in your opinion), he isn't home. the lights are off, and the kitchen seems sort of clean, compared to how you've seen it in the past. his bird is in his cage, which you give a wide berth to as you take to exploring his apartment. (what? you have to figure stuff out about him somehow, he's super secretive.)

as far as you know, he's at work or something- he picks up several different jobs, or so he's told you. what's today, friday? he's probably working a shift at the little cafe downtown. he might not be home till sort of late, but you're fine with waiting for him. maybe you'll even surprise him! (you have found that that is a pretty rare occurrence)

his apartment is pretty small- just a living room, one bed, and one bath, and the kitchen (of course). the bathroom is small, just a tub/shower combo and a small pedestal sink, the mirror of which opens to reveal a small cabinet. there isn't anything in there but several bottles and empty syringes, which sort of freaks you out. dave... doesn't do heroin, right? if he did heroin he would have told you, he's that kind of guy. maybe he just... takes antibiotics or something. shit, what if he has an std?

nevermind.

his room is pretty big. he has a queen mattress on the floor, with a pile of blankets haphazardly thrown on top of it. there is a computer in the corner- actually, three monitors, with a laptop hooked up on one side. looked like dave does some gaming on his free time. 

there are also cords strewn out over the floor, presumably connecting the monitors to huge, old-fashioned speakers in the corners of the room. there are strings on the ceiling as well, with pictures clipped to them. it looked like they were recently developed and now drying- and they're all shitty pictures of him. and they're taken everywhere, like in front of old churches and inside laundromats and at the dog park- all places you recognize. you think you see one of him standing outside the tattoo shop, pulling a ridiculous duck face.

however, there's one on one end, nearly obscured by a terrible selfie of him with some old camera, that is of you.

you're playing that video game, the one that you and dave started playing and never finished that one night. he managed to get you in fantastic lighting- the glow from the screen was barely visible and you were instead lit by a warm lamp behind you. you were smiling, and you're really surprised to find that you look more attractive here than you see yourself. is this how dave views you?

you flush a little. wow, that's really gay. you continue searching his room- a walk-in closet with a place to develop photos and a nice microphone, a pair of turntables and a mixing board, a couple guitars... nothing else you really think is interesting or scandalous. you _do_ find a vibrator on his desk, but you aren't gonna grill him about his sex life. if he likes it up the butt, fine. whatever. you can't say much.

you sort of end up sitting on his couch, flipping through the feed on your phone. you're just about to turn on the tv when he opens the door. he's obviously surprised to see you, because he drops his bag of groceries and smiles a little, his hands worming their way into the pockets of his hoodie as he kicks off his shoes.

"nice of you to drop in," he says, closing the door behind him and hopping on the couch next to you, making it creak a little. he just. leaves his groceries on the ground, and you remind yourself to pick them up later.

however, your mind kind of goes blank as he snuggles up next to you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, and you smile, wrapping an arm around him. he's... surprisingly affectionate, especially for a guy who acts so stoic. you remind yourself to surprise dave more. 

"nice to see me?" you ask, and he looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. his lips are turned up just slightly, and it makes your heart flutter a little. 

"nice surprise. you here for any specific reason?"

"haha, uh, your tattoo, actually. we haven't scheduled another appointment yet."

"so you came over to schedule one?" he makes a face. "wow, great reason. and i thought you just liked me." 

"hey, i do so like you and you know it! shut up. i was also just going to do it now? i have all my stuff."

he pauses for a moment. "oh. well, if you want to? i mean, i thought you were just gonna come over and fuck around with me for a couple hours. jesus, that sounded wr- you know what? just take that any way you want to. and isn't it unsanitary to do it at someone's house?"

you realize he's sort of rambling, and you just roll your eyes, shaking your head and pulling him closer. "it'll be fine. it's not unsanitary if you're careful. besides, i've been itching to keep working on it."

he let out a sigh, his eyes falling closed for a moment. "i swear to god, if i get some std from your fucking ink needle, i'm going to strangle you."

 

well first you were at work and then you were driving and then you were at home and john was there and he had all his hell needles and now youre on your back and john is taking said hell needles to an already sensitive spot on your back and jesus this is painful

you wish your brain didnt sound like a complete monologue literally all the time but it does and you cannot properly enunciate how much pain you are in right now

youre like cr1tikal up in this bitch, you actually hate your life and you are in constant pain but you still sound like youre teaching a calculus class

anyways fuck this really hurts

 

well, dave doesn't seem to _not_ be enjoying this entire endeavor.

he's not too stiff, but he's still a little tense and he twitches whenever you prick him somewhere a little more sensitive. he's breathing slowly, his back rising and falling as his chest presses against the couch. you're seated on a shitty barstool and [music is playing quietly in the background.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztGPYPArAyE)

dave turns a little to look at you- you've stopped, simply taken aback by how many scars he has- his back is covered in them, and your hand twitches; part of you wants to trace them- the one running along his spine, the small ones along his ribs, the curved, long ones stretching from either side of his chest. you look up to see his face in profile- the one eye you can see looks mischievous and his hair is falling a little over his sharp nose. 

sometimes when you look at him, you think you're looking at him for the first time.

 

you hurt a lot, but its nice to see john like this

you mean, hes in his element. like hes supposed to be doing all this, he looks at home. like he could never be happier than this.

however, you stop hurting for some reason- the pain trickles away like water and you tilt you head to the side to get a good look at him.

hes looking down at you, his face lights up and he looks so _mesmerized_ by you and you cant get over how well lit his hair is and how his glasses dont have any glare and how is eyes are ridiculously clearly blue and fuck, you want to take a picture of him, because he is just so beautiful.

instead, you tuck away this moment in the back of your mind so you can maybe bottle it at some point and drink it at 2 am when you miss him even though hes down the hallway

 

the tattoo business is done long before you thought it would be. 

you end up finishing almost all the basic lines- all that's left to do is finish the inner stuff and some shading and you'll be done, mostly because your initial sketch hadn't faded at all. it seems dave was a lot more meticulous with his body than you thought. dave's shakily getting up when you begin to put away your stuff, and as you move to get up and take it to set it beside the door so that it's not in the way, he hurriedly grasps your hand, and- you think you hear just the tiniest little inhale of breath. 

oh, he thinks you're leaving.

giving him a reassuring look, you sit back down on the couch, carefully running your hands down his bare chest. he's got these fine little hairs down his tummy and you want to kiss them down, down, down...

anyways. 

he's shivering a little- you think he's cold or something, but with the way he's looking at you, it could be pain. 

it takes a little while to bandage him up- you've done enough today that you need to- and he's silent as you wrap his back and shoulder in gauze, his hands resting on his thighs and digging into the denim of his skinnies as you tape it off, making sure it stays. 

"don't shower for at least two days, okay? this part needs to heal. " you murmur to him, and he nods. he's so... quiet. you don't think you've ever seen him like this. you run a hand down the unmarked part of his back, and he twitches a little. 

suddenly, he's turning himself around and grabbing the collar of your t-shirt and kissing you, and it's slow and gentle. just a give-and-take, his lips sliding against yours and his hand resting ever-gently against your cheek, rough fingerpads brushing against your stubble and you tilt your head, one hand coming up to run through his hair. it's soft, and it's easy to just gently comb through as you just... _kiss_ , nothing but steady lips and shaky hands and huffs of breath shared between you.

 

you wake up to john combing his hand through your hair. 

hes sitting up, watching some cartoon- you can hear voices on the tv- and

oh

you guess you fell asleep

all you remember is him finishing up and mopping up the blood beading up on your back with this little blue cloth and then patching you up just like dirk used to, but it was way more gentle. almost intimate.

no, definitely intimate. it was some cinematic quality shit, indie music in the background and everything

and then, you definitely remember that he was so goddamn overwhelming that it prompted you to kiss him, and it was so gentle and soft and it lasted for what felt like an eternity and an antieternity (?) at the same time, and it felt so good to have him close, to press your face into his chest and drink in the smell of his t-shirt and cologne and skin

and now youre here- your head in his lap and your legs curled rather uncomfortably up against the arm of the couch, john stroking your hair like hes done it every day for his entire life and you want to cry because wow. this boy is so goddamn charming.

but you dont cry. because striders dont cry, or whatever.

not in front of people.

you make the mistake of shifting a little and john sort of shifts back to accommodate, like you're a puzzle piece that connected to him and you had to fit _just right_ , and when you turn your head (ow, your back) to look up hes looking down at you and smiling and you smile back and then he pokes your nose and leans down to kiss your forehead

and you swear, you love him, even if its in a dumb probably-will-only-last-two-months way, you love him. maybe even in a not dumb way.

 

"so, are we boyfriends now?" you ask and you realize that was probably a mistake. dave stiffens a little, and you have this split second of oh-shit-i-fucked-up-oh-god but- oh, his face is cracking into a smile and the corners of his eyes crinkle up a little (his shades came off when he fell asleep on you) and you smile back like an idiot, your mouth turning up in what you know is the goofiest way possible.

"yes, definitely. we're totally boyfriending it up in here. gonna be the best boyfriends that ever existed. gay power couple." this makes you laugh, and he joins in with you as he sits up, taking your hand in his and kissing all of your knuckles- all of them!!! like a proper gentleman!!!!!!- and he rests his head on your shoulder and you kiss his scalp and you promise yourself that you're going to make this last as long as you can, that you're going to protect him forever. and that nothing's going to change that.

you order pizza and kiss with pizza-and-beer breath and binge b-rated movies till two in the morning. 

then you sleep, and you swear to god you've never slept so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments guys! honestly it makes me so happy to get feedback.


	13. and then they fucked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning!!!! here be the sex!!!!!!!!!

  
TT: So.  
TT: I have heard some rumours about your fraternizations recently.   
TT: Are they true?  
EB: oh, hey rose!  
EB: what do you mean?  
TT: I heard that you are in a relationship with my brother?  
EB: oh, yeah! we're boyfriends and stuff.  
EB: we started dating, like, a month ago. i'm surprised you didn't find out till now!   
TT: Oh, I knew.  
TT: I merely was trying to get it out of Dave, who refuses to tell me anything on most days.  
TT: He was getting to be a bother, so I decided to go to you.   
EB: aw, he's just being like that because you're his sister.  
TT: I suppose.  
TT: Anyways, I should be taking my leave. I have a customer to attend to.  
EB: okay! see you on monday.  
TT: See you.  


rose is a little nosy, you think as you fix yourself breakfast. mmm, oatmeal. perfect for a saturday.

you sort of wonder why dave would be so cagey about your relationship with his sister, of all people. but he was sort of just like that, so you weren't going to bother him about it.

not that you could at the moment, anyways- he's super busy with a midterm project that he'd neglected to finish. as far as you know, he had been cooped up in his apartment for the past week or so. 

hmm. you realize you should probably, y'know, be a good boyfriend. and bring him something to eat, because he never keeps food in his house! he's probably been subsisting off of saltine crackers and tap water. 

hence, you scarf down your oatmeal with a vengeance and get to making dave some homemade egbert-recipe pho. 

despite your ambiguous, native-american esque brownness, you had quite a bit of vietnamese in you. you were pretty sure there was some mong back there too at some point, but your dad was pretty big about the former. pho was a staple in your household from a young age, as were boba and spring rolls and raw beef. (you thought that was gross, but whatever.)

pho is pretty easy to make- if you don't mind doing the broth. that's the only thing that takes forever.

the recipe goes as follows:

two whole charred white onions

charred ginger root

fish sauce (2 tbsp)

soy sauce (2 tbsp)

six cups of beef broth or stock

whole star anise

whole cloves

cinnamon sticks

lime juice

and you basically throw them all together in a pot and let it simmer for like, four hours. (you are pressed for time, though, so you vigorously boil it for about an hour. floor it.) 

then, you pull out all the onions and junk and then throw in the noodles and raw beef. they pretty much just cook in the broth, and once that's done you just throw on the insane amount of garnish- cilantro, onions, sprouts, et cetera. and then you eat it and cry because it's so fucking good.

it is that good, though. and you know dave is gonna love it.

you finish cooking around noon, and you're glad of the timing. dave is usually functioning pretty well at this point. so, you put it in a huge tupperware and carry it down the hall. 

 

oh shit someone is knocking on the door and you are naked right now sitting on your couch watching cartoons and basking in the glory of your recently finished music theory project 

you actually finished it last night but you didn't have any time to rejoice you just sort of passed the fuck out 

anyways you get up to open the door and oh. there he is. big buff beefcake boyfriend (the quadruple b) in all his hypermasculine glory. hes like a gorilla or some shit, its ridiculous. but you love him anyways. he does raise is eyebrows though and you realize you are actually totally naked save from the boxers you were wearing and thank fucking god you wore your packer today. you almost never do because it's hella uncomfortable but due to some fate you were wearing it (you think its because you wanted to go to mickey ds last night in those really thin sweats and you like getting looks due to your massive, fake dong.) "hey!" oh shit he's talking alright strider put your listenin' ears on "yo" "um, why are you naked?" "i mean it's hot as fuck in here and ive sorta been cooped up for the past week what do you expect" "yeah, yeah. whatever." and he's stepping inside and ooh what's in the tupperware huh mr egbert is it one of those dick in a box jokes because little davey over here would love that right now 

anyways

 

wow he was hot.

dave, you mean. he's got such a nice chest! he is sorta scrawny but he's got really nice abs (a nice contrast- past the muscle you have, you're sorta pudgy) and the v-line he's got is making you drool a little. 

stupid sexy boyfriend. you realize you have a boner and you casually cover it with the huge bin of soup you have. thank god for pho.

man this is some stupid dick in the box bullshit. if you looked at him any longer you swear you're gonna open up this tupperware and your dick is just gonna be in there.

okay, yeah. not thinking about it.

anyways! you say your greetings and ask him (totally nonchalantly) why he's naked and wow you wanna fuck him. haha! let's not think about that. 

you step inside as carefully as you can while trying to hide a boner with a fucking tub full of soup, setting said soup on the counter. you walk around to get bowls while conveniently getting enough cover to tuck your dick into the waistband of your boxers. okay, we're good.

dave looks rather curious, and you just smile at him, taking a ladle from his little vase full of spoons and spatulas by his stove and putting a little in each bowl. awesome, it was still hot. you slide one over to dave along with a spoon and a fork, grinning. 

"try it," you say, and he does- he sips very carefully at a bit of the broth. he looks confused as ever for a moment, but then his face splits into a grin. 

"john, you've done it again. this is fucking amazing."

you just laugh- yesss, he likes it. "that good, huh?"

"dude, this is, like, favor-worthy. i could get down and suck your dick right now."

you snort, but oh god. did he just. offer to suck you off? oh, jeez. 

you guys had been dating for a while, but you hadn't done anything... sexual. at least, not yet. which sort of sucks for you because with your last few partners you had a tendency to fuck like rabbits. hence, you have been cooped up in your room every night for the past month, furiously masturbating to... to...

not thinking about it. 

and it wasn't every night, anyway! was it?

man, this was a bad situation. you decide to try and play it off. because, what if he's just joking! you haven't dated very many guys. you don't know how he works! 

"you would, huh?" you can feel the quaver in your voice. fuck.

dave just raises his eyebrows, looking at you for a moment.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

"oh, shit!" he laughed. "you actually want me to! man, you must have it really bad for me." 

"well!" you protest, "we've been dating for like, a month! and we still haven't-"

oh, he was kissing you and it was wet and sloppy and /really fucking good/ and you sort of just melt, your hands on his waist till he slaps them off and you put them on his shoulders instead and suddenly you're standing up and he's grabbing your ass and it's /possessive/ and you whine a little because goddammit, you're horny and dave was just making it a thousand times worse.

you think a bowl almost got knocked off the counter as dave gripped it to hop off the stool he was sitting on but you didn't care- he's taking you by the land and he's leading you to his wreck of a room and he's turning the light off and, oh god.

dave's running his hands over you and it's so gentle, and your cock is twitching in your jeans and he's pushing you onto the bed, oh god oh god oh god. you weren't used to not being the one in control and it was _scary_ the way he held you so possessively, ripping your shirt off and grinding up against you, fuck it was so good.

you loved him so goddamn much and you wanted to tell him but he was suddenly wrapping a hand around your throat and you groaned, unable to form words. 

"you want me that goddamn bad, huh? i've barely done anything to you and you're already so fucking ready for this."

 

ok if you had to be honest with yourself youd been pretty goddamn horny for the past while

with john staying over nearly every night and vice versa, you barely had any nights alone anymore, which meant you couldnt jerk off every night like you used to.

needless to say, you were /dying/ and you just had to fucking take him. he was here and he had a boner just from looking at you and you couldn't hold back. so you were on top of him and you could feel yourself pulsing and it was so goddamn _good_. 

youre suddenly not exactly sure what to do with this incredibly sexy man on your bed but then you have this terrible idea and you reach toward your bedside drawer

 

dave's puling away from you, which is a little scary. you're left vulnerable and half-naked on his bed, legs splayed and cock twitching incessantly in your jeans. he returns after a small silence, however, and you hear the pop of a cap and 

oh. 

oh god.

your jeans were coming off, including your boxers, and he licked his lips as he stared at you, making you shift uncomfortably under him.

and suddenly his finger was up against... _that_. that _thing_. that thing that you weren't supposed to talk about, let alone touch and press and- fuck oh god he was pressing a finger in and you let out this pitiful little whine because shit. he was gonna fuck you. and the feeling was so strange and you'd only done this maybe twice to yourself when you were wasted as hell but he just pats your stomach and tells you to relax but you can't, you can't help but clench around him because it feels so _good_. 

there's a second finger not much longer, and as you get used to the feeling you get marginally more coherent. "dave, fuck, what are you doing?" 

"dude, hey, it's okay, gonna feel good, i promise." his eyes are hooded with arousal and he was red down to his collarbone and he thrust those two fingers inside of you, making you grunt and suppress a moan. 

"dude, i-"

"john, shut _up_." and dave was angry now and he's suddenly curling his fingers up against this _thing_ and-

"oh, fuck!" it felt like someone had just taken a defibrillator to your dick; it was twitching all over the place and drooling pre all over your stomach. you don't know what he did but you were shaking all over and waves of arousal were shooting up and down his spine and- oh fuck he's doing it again. 

"dave, please, please please please, fuck-" you gasped, your head spinning. you _needed_ this. 

"oh, you like that, huh? what a slut." he punctuates the last word with another thrust, this time with three fingers. you keen.

he continues like this for a short while, content to just let you moan into the pillow you had grabbed and shoved up against your face. but suddenly they were gone, and the emptiness made you shiver and whine.

"dave, no, come back, i need-" oh, but something cold and slicked with lube was now pressing up against you, and it wasn't him, no, but it was something and you look down to see it's a thick, red vibrator. dave's got this wolfish grin on his face like he's gonna _ruin_ you and you whine, pressing back down on it and it slips in so easy and it fills you up so good, better than anything had before. 

he lets you sit there for a little bit, and he's totally letting you fester. but as soon as you're about to open your mouth to beg he flicks the thing on, and- oh, _fuck_.

you cry out. it was right up against your prostate and it was buzzing you into oblivion and it got even worse when dave wrapped his mouth around your dripping cock and there was something so _familiar_ about it but you couldn't put your mind on where, not now. 

you're quickly tumbling over the edge and you try to warn dave but he takes it so well, what a good boy, and it's like all the tendons in your body are suddenly cut and you can't even move, let alone think- 

and moments later, dave is pulling out the vibe and you try to ask him if he wants you to return the favor, but he must know you're spent because he shushes you and leaves. 

he returns with a warm rag, wiping you down with this gentle hesitancy that makes you wanna tear up a little- he sits you up not long after, propping you up on his pillows, and you just. pull him close to you. you're probably crushing him but you want to _feel_ him, want to feel his heart beating against your chest and his hands against your back.

and you did, and you kissed him, and then he kissed you, and then you sat down and ate pho and talked about pokemon for four hours. 

then you fucked (again). and then you both crashed on his bed, limbs tangled together.


	14. you love him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they fuck. again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE PLOT

sun was filtering through dave's blinds when you woke up. god, what time was it? too early. your head hurt. your neck hurt. everything was sore and you slowly begin to remember what happened last nighr, and you rolled over to wrap your arms around your boyfr-

you clutched at empty sheets, and your heart begins thumping in your chest. was last night... too far? was dave freaking out? oh god oh god. you were sort of having a mini panic attack. but you realized that you... really weren't the one to initiate much. you pray that he didn't take you being so pliant the wrong way. you were just-

you're overthinking this. get it together, john.

you get up, stretching a little, still totally naked (and sporting some morning wood, not that that mattered now) and you step out of the bedroom, looking around. it looks like, from where the sun is now, that it's about ten o'clock, which is pretty good for you on a day like this. dave's room is a mess as always. you see his clothes discarded on the floor, and this weird...

is that a dildo?

you take a step forward to inspect it. it doesn't have much of a base, but it definitely is realistic. you snigger, filing it into your brain for teasing material later.

okay, but you have to find him befre you can tease him.

you hear the shower running, though. you grin, tiptoeing in and seeing dave's figure silhouetted by the translucent shower curtain. a master plan hatched in his mind, and he immediately pulled the curtain open.

"a-HA!"

oh.

 

oh

oh god no

oh fuck

john opened the curtain how did he sneak up on you youre losing your cool strider you should have locked the door or told john you were gonna shower this is super bad not good shit

hes looking at you and he looks down, of course he does, and he's looking at your obvious lack of a dick and you're going to die. youre going to disintegrate into awful disgusting trans boy dust

"h- is. is this a prank?" he laughed a little.

oh. shit right you told him about the thing that you and rose did when you were kids. when you'd swap places. but he spots the red ring in your finger that you never take off and his eyes widened.

"dave, i-"

"its okay," you say and youre so glad the water is running over your face because he can't see the tears welling up in your eyes "you can leave if you want"

 

you're taken aback. you never thought... but things began to click together. dave and rose looking practically identical... his height, the slenderness of his body, the curve of his spine- he was... transgender.

you suddenly realize why rose had discussed this with you. she wanted you to understand.

and he looks like he's about to cry. god, abd you're just standing there gawping at him.

he does have a, yknow... a vagina. but it's different. you've heard that testosterone changes things. he looks almost like he has a dick- though it's a lot smaller. and the way he's shivering even under the warm water, and how his chest is flushed...

he's just as hot. maybe even hotter, because this is /real/ amd /honest/ and you love him so much.

okay. god. stop gaping.

"why would i ever want to leave?"

"...what."

"i'm not gonna leave you just because you have a vagina, dude."

"...oh."

you laugh. "did you really think that?"

he was just looking down at the plastic of the tub basin, and you had a pang of guilt for being so rude. your gaze softened, and you took a step forwards, brushing your lips over his neck.

"you're still, like, super hot. and i love you a lot."

you love him. you're not sure if you've ever told him that. you kiss his cheek, taste the salt of tears, and immediately kiss him on the mouth, sighing out.

his lips glide ever-smoothly against yours, wow they're soft, and you open your mouth eagerly for him, pushing him against the tile wall.

dave barked out a laugh, struggling a little under your grasp. oh, that was hot. "what, do you wanna be in charge now?"

"do you want me to be in charge?"

"maybe."

you grin. he's always so indirect. it was easy to press him up against the cold tile, making him shiver, as you mouthed the skin of his chest, tracing with your tongue the scars you suddenly realized were a remnant of his breasts. you feel a surge of longing for him, and you're hard up against his thigh when you stand straight again.

dave's got this look on his face, all flushed and pink and hot, and it gives you the impression that he  _wants_ something from you, something you never thought you could give.

"do you want me to..." you bite your lip, and dave sighed in exasperation. 

 

"dude, just put it in me" you say and when his dick aims for your ass you slap him on the chest but immediately regret it because his face looks like he was a puppy you just kicked.

"not there. put it where it feels good." you cant believe youre saying this jesus christ you sound like a shitty porn star but obviously its working cause john throbs against you and you groan

"are... you sure?"

"god, john. yes, i am sure. just-" and he was shifting and sliding into you and  _god_ jesus christ you forgot how much it hurts but its also fucking amazing

shits definitely changed down there in the years since you started hrt but thats the one thing that never changed

okay dont feel shitty now god john is fucking you and

fuck

john is fucking you

 

 

you groan as you feel him pulse around you - he's so real and alive and he's squirming under you, so you grab his wrists and practically lift him up the wall, letting his hairy ankles hang over your shoulders as the scalding water pours down your back. 

it was slow and deliberate and just so  _good,_ and you felt bad because this probably wasn't doing anything for him so you reach down to try to find his clit and instead find a swollen, throbbing  _thing_ that is unfamiliar to you but when you squeeze it between your thumb and forefinger he groans and clenches around you, oh god he's so good. you love him. you love him.

 

okay john is officially your favorite person in the whole entire fucking world. you love him

hes already fucking you and now hes touching your dick right as he presses against your g and wow this is some fucking grade a shit right here

you know john had one nice usda approved grade a schlong but you didnt know he was good at touchin em too

you feel yourself getting closer but its just tantalizing like

not close enough, not hard enough, not enough to make you come so you shove your hand down with an impatient groan and

 

you drop him back to the floor of the tub basin, pulling out of him and having a sudden, excellent idea. it was all too easy to lean down and get on your hands and knees, pushing his hips back so his ass was against the cold tile and taking his dick - you guess that's the most accurate word you can think of - into your mouth. 

 

oh my god oh my god oh my go

you were fucking convulsing with pleasure at this point and he felt so good around you and he was so amazingly rough and when he hollowed his cheeks and  _sucked_ thats when you went past oversensitivity into coming into his mouth with this strangled cry and wow

god

that was the best orgasm you ever had

 

you've been jacking yourself off as you give him head, and when he cries out as he comes, you do the same, curling over yourself and groaning as white streaks across the tile and dribbles onto the floor of the tub. 

dave is absolutely  _spent,_ his face red and his chest heaving. you take care to turn off the water (which was now cold) and haul him onto the toilet seat, where you dried him off. once he got up to dress himself, you took his place to rest your shaky legs. 

almost as soon as your boxers are on, he jumps into your lap, laughing and giggling and kissing you all over. god, you love him.

"that was fucking amazing. i love you." 

you love him, too. you tell him by kissing him. 

"you want some breakfast?" you ask.

"fuck yeah."


End file.
